TELL  ENGLAND 

ERNEST  RAYMOND 


TELL    ENGLAND 

A  Study  in  a  Generation 

BY 

ERNEST  RAYMOND 


NEW  ^%SJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1922, 
BY  GEORGE   H.   DORAN   COMPANY 


TELL   ENGLAND.      I 
PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


For  all  emotions  that  are  tense  and  strong. 

And  utmost  knowledge,  I  have  lived  for  these^-i 

Lived  deep,  and  let  the  lesser  things  live  long. 
The  everlasting  hills,  the  lakes,  the  trees. 

Who'd  give  their  thousand  years  to  sing  this  song 
Of  Life,  and  Mans  high  sensibilities. 

Which  I  into  the  face  of  Death  can  sing — 

O  Death,  thou  poor  and  disappointed  thing — 

Strike  if  thou  wilt,  and  soon;  strike  breast  and  brow; 
For  I  have  lived:  and  thou  canst  rob  me  now 
Only  of  some  long  life  that  ne'er  has  been. 
The  life  that  I  have  lived,  so  full,  so  keen. 
Is  mine!     I  hold  it  firm  beneath  thy  blow 
And,  dying,  take  it  with  me  where  I  go. 


504  6 IJ 


'J 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  PROLOGUE  BY  PADRE  MONTY II 

BOOK  I:     FIVE  GAY  YEARS  OF  SCHOOL 
Part  I:     Tidal  Reaches 

CHAPTER 

I      RUPERT  RAY  BEGINS  HIS  STORY 29 

II      RUPERT    OPENS    A    GREAT    WAR 49 

III      AWFUL   ROUT   OF   RAY 65 

IV      THE  PREFECTS  GO  OVER  TO   THE  ENEMY       ...  74 

V      CHEATING 99 

VI      AN    INTERLUDE IIO 

Part  II:    Long,  Long  Thoughts 

VII      CAUGHT   ON   THE  BEATEN   TRACK II 3 

VIII      THE    FREEDHA'M    REVELATIONS I25 

IX      WATERLOO     OPENS 1 32 

X      WATERLOO  CONTINUES:  THE  CHARGE  AT  THE  END 

OF   THE   DAY 143 

XI      THE    GREAT    MATCH 154 

XII      CASTLES   AND   BRICK-DUST ,..       •  168 

BOOK  II:    AND  THE  REST— WAR 

Part  I:    "Rangoon'*  Nights 

I      THE    ETERNAL    WATERWAY l3l 

II      PADRE  MONTY  AND  MAJOR  HARDY  COME  ABOARD    .  202 

vii 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

III  "C.  OF  E.,   NOW  AND  ALWAYS^ 21 5 

IV  THE    VIGIL 224 

V      PENANCE 232 

VI      MAJOR    HARDY    AND    PADRE    IVIONTY    FINISH    THE 

VOYAGE 238 

Part  II:     The  White  Heights 

VII      MUDROS,   IN  THE  ISLE  OF  LEMNOS    .        .       .        .        .  253 

VIII      THE  GREEN   ROOM 259 

IX      PROCEEDING    FORTHWITH    TO    GALLIPOLI       .        .        .  268 

X      SUVLA   AND    HELLES   AT   LAST 278 

XI      AN   ATMOSPHERE  OF   SHOCKS  AND   SUDDEN  DEATH  285 

XII      SACRED    TO    WHITE 29I 

XIII  "live   deep,    and    let    THE    LESSER    THINGS    LIVE 

long" 295 

XIV  THE   NINETEENTH    OF  DECE'MBER 3OO 

XV      TRANSIT 315 

XVI      THE  HOURS  BEFORE  THE  END 323 

XVII      THE  END   OF   GALLIPOLI 328 

XVIII      THE  END  OF  RUPERT'S  STORY 337 


TELL  ENGLAND 


TELL  ENGLAND 

A  PROLOGUE  BY  PADRE  MONTY 

§  I 

IN  the  year  that  the  Colonel  died  he  took  little  Rupert  to  see 
the  swallows  fly  away.  I  can  find  no  better  beginning  than 
that. 

When  there  devolved  upon  me  as  a  labour  of  love  the  editing 
of  Rupert  Ray's  book,  "Tell  England,"  I  carried  the  manuscript 
into  my  room  one  bright  autumn  afternoon,  and  read  it  during 
the  fall  of  a  soft  evening,  till  the  light  failed,  and  my  eyes 
burned  with  the  strain  of  reading  in  the  dark.  I  could  hardly 
leave  his  ingenuous  tale  to  rise  and  turn  on  the  gas.  Nor, 
perhaps,  did  I  want  such  artificial  brightness.  There  are 
times  when  one  prefers  the  twilight.  Doubtless  the  tale  held 
me  fascinated  because  it  revealed  the  schooldays  of  those  boys 
whom  I  met  in  their  young  manhood,  and  told  afresh  that 
wild  old  Gallipoli  adventure  which  I  shared  with  them. 
Though,  sadly  enough,  I  take  Heaven  to  witness  that  I  was  not 
the  idealised  creature  whom  Rupert  portrays.  God  bless  them, 
how  these  boys  will  idealise  us ! 

Then  again,  as  Rupert  tells  you,  it  was  I  who  suggested  to 
him  the  writing  of  his  story.  And  well  I  recall  how  he  de- 
murred, asking : 

"But  what  am  I  to  write  about?"  For  he  was  always  diffi- 
dent and  unconscious  of  his  power. 

"Is  Gallipoli  nothing  to  write  about?"  I  retorted.  "And  you 
can't  have  spent  five  years  at  a  great  public  school  like  Kensing- 
towe  without  one  or  two  sensational  things.  Pick  them  out  and 
let  us  have  them.  For  whatever  the  modern  theorists  say,  the 
main  duty  of  a  story-teller  is  certainly  to  tell  stories." 

"But  I  thought,"  he  broke  in,  "that  you're  always  maintain- 

II 


12  Tell  England 

ing  that  the  greatest  fiction  should  be  occupied  with  Subjective 
Incident/' 

''Don't  interrupt,  you  argumentative  child,"  I  said  (you  will 
find  Rupert  is  impertinent  enough  in  one  place  to  suggest  that  I 
have  a  tendency  to  be  rude  and  a  tendency  to  hold  forth). 
''Surely  the  ideal  story  must  contain  the  maximum  of  Objective 
Incident  with  the  maximum  of  Subjective  Incident.  Only  give 
us  the  exciting  events  of  your  schooldays,  and  describe  your 
thoughts  as  they  happpened,  and  you  will  unconsciously  reveal 
what  sort  of  scoundrelly  characters  you  and  your  friends  were. 
And  when  you  get  to  the  Gallipoli  part,  well,  you  can  give  us 
chiefly  your  thoughts,  for  Gallipoli,  as  far  as  dramatic  incident 
is  concerned,  is  well  able  to  shift  for  itself." 

Little  wonder  that  I  was  fascinated  to  read  Rupert's  final 
manuscript.  And,  when  I  had  finished  the  last  words,  I  an- 
nounced aloud  a  weighty  decision:  "We  must  have  a  Pro- 
logue, Rupert," — though,  to  be  sure,  my  study  was  empty  at  the 
time — "and  it  must  give  pictures  of  what  your  three  heroes 
were  like,  when  they  were  small,  abominable  boys." 

And  thereafter  I  busied  myself  in  seeking  information  of  the 
early  childhood  of  Rupert  Ray,  Archibald  Pennybet,  and  Edgar 
Gray  Doe.  Not  without  misgiving  do  I  offer  the  result  of  these 
researches,  for  I  fear  all  the  time  lest  my  self-conscious  hand 
should  profane  Rupert's  artless  narrative. 

In  the  year  that  the  Colonel  died  he  took  little  Rupert  to  see 
the  swallows  fly  away.  Colonel  Ray  was  a  stately,  grey-bearded 
grandfather ;  and  Rupert  his  flushed  and  blue-eyed  grandson  of 
six  years  old;  and  the  two  stood  side  by  side  and  watched. 
Behind  them  lay  the  French  town,  Boulogne ;  beside  them  went 
the  waters  of  the  French  river,  the  Liane.  Suddenly  Rupert, 
who  had  kept  his  blue  eyes  on  a  sky  but  little  bluer,  cried  out 
excitedly:  "^There  they  are!"  For  him  at  that  moment  the 
most  interesting  thing  in  the  world  was  the  flight  of  swallows 
overhead.  The  Colonel,  also,  looked  at  the  birds  till  they  were 
out  of  sight,  and  then,  after  keeping  silence  awhile,  uttered  a 
remark  which  was  rather  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  birds  than 
addressed  to  his  young  companion.  "I  shall  not  see  the  swal- 
lows again,"  he  said. 

Colonel  Rupert  Ray  was  no  ordinary  person.  He  was  one  of 
those  of  whom  tales  are  told ;  and  such  people  are  never  ordi- 


A  Prologue  by  Padre  Monty  13 

nary.  The  most  treasured  of  these  tales  is  the  story  of  the 
swallows ;  and  it  goes  on  to  tell,  as  you  would  expect,  how  the 
Colonel  died  that  year,  before  the  swallows  came  flying  north 
and  home  again.  He  was  buried,  while  little  Rupert  and 
Rupert's  mother  looked  on,  in  that  untidy  corner  of  the  Bou- 
logne Cemetery,  where  many  another  English  half -pay  officer 
had  been  laid  before  him. 

Of  course  the  burial  of  the  Colonel  was  very  sad  for  Rupert ; 
but  he  soon  forgot  it  all  in  the  excitement  of  preparing  for  the 
journey  back  to  London.  The  Colonel,  you  see,  had  known 
that  his  old  life  would  break  up  soon,  and  had  summoned  from 
their  home  in  London  the  widow  and  child  of  his  favourite  son, 
"that  Rupert,  the  best  of  the  lot,''  as  he  used  to  call  him.  And 
now  the  Colonel  was  dead.  So  his  grandson,  the  last  of  the 
Rupert  Rays,  could  look  forward  to  all  the  jolly  thrills  of 
steaming  across  the  Channel  to  Folkestone  and  bowling  in  a 
train  to  London.    Really  life  was  an  excellent  thing. 

The  day  of  the  venturesome  voyage  began  with  excited  sleep- 
lessness and  glowing  health,  and  ended  with  a  headache  and 
great  tiredness.  There  was  the  bustle  of  embarkation  on  to  the 
boat;  the  rattle  and  bang  of  falling  luggage;  the  jangle  of 
French  and  English  tongues ;  the  unstraining  of  mighty  ropes ; 
the  ''hoot !  hoot !"  from  the  funnel,  a  side-splitting  incident ;  the 
suffsuff-lap'Suff  of  the  ploughed-up  sea;  the  spray  of  the 
Channel,  which  sprinkling  one's  cheeks,  caused  one  to  roar  with 
laughter,  till  more  moderation  was  enjoined;  the  incessant  throb 
of  the  engines;  the  vision  of  white  cliffs,  and  the  excitement 
among  the  passengers ;  the  headache ;  the  landing  on  a  black  old 
pier ;  the  privilege  of  guarding  the  luggage  by  sitting  upon  as 
much  of  one  trunk  as  six  years'  growth  of  boy  will  cover,  and 
pressing  firmly  upon  two  other  trunks  with  either  hand,  while 
Mrs.  Ray  (that  capable  lady)  changed  francs  into  shillings; 
there  was  the  wearisome  and  rolling  train- journey,  wherein  one 
slept,  first  against  the  window  and  then  against  the  black  sleeve 
of  an  unknown  gentleman ;  and  lastly  there  was  the  realisation 
that  pale  and  sunny  France  had  withdrawn  into  the  past  to 
make  room  for  pale  and  smutty  London. 

Now  the  Captain  of  all  these  manoeuvres,  as  the  meanest 
intelligence  will  have  observed,  was  Mrs.  Ray.  Mrs.  Ray  was 
Rupert's  mother,  and  as  beautiful  as  every  mother  must  be,  who 


14  Tell  England 

has  an  only  son,  and  is  a  widow.  Moreover  she  was  a  perfect 
teller  of  stories:  all  really  beautiful  mothers  are.  And,  for 
years  after,  she  used  at  evening  time  to  draw  young  Rupert 
against  her  knees,  and  tell  him  the  traditional  stories  of  that  old 
half-pay  officer  at  Boulogne.  And  grandfather  was  indeed  a 
hero  in  these  stories.  We  suspect — but  who  can  sound  the 
artful  depths  of  a  woman  who  is  at  once  young,  lovely,  a 
mother,  and  a  widow? — that  Mrs.  Ray,  knowing  that  Rupert 
could  never  recall  his  father,  was  determined  that  at  least  one 
soldierly  figure  should  loom  heroic  in  his  childish  memories. 
She  would  tell  again  and  again  how  he  asked  repeatedly,  as  he 
lay  dying,  for  ''that  Rupert,  the  best  of  the  lot."  And  her  son 
would  say:  "I  s'pose  he  meant  Daddy,  mother."  **Yes,"  she 
would  answer.  "You  see,  you  were  all  Ruperts :  Grandfather 
Rupert  Ray,  Daddy  Rupert  Ray,  and  Sonny  Rupert  Ray,  my 
own  little  Sonny  Ray."  (Mothers  talk  in  this  absurd  fashion, 
and  Mrs.  Ray  was  the  chief  of  such  offenders.) 

But  quite  the  masterpiece  of  all  her  tales  was  this.  One 
summer  morning,  when  the  Boulogne  promenade  was  bright 
and  crowded  and  lively,  the  Colonel  was  seated  with  his  grand- 
son beside  him.  A  little  distance  away  sat  Rupert's  mother, 
who  was  just  about  as  shy  of  the  Colonel  as  the  Colonel  was 
shy  of  her  (which  fact  accounts,  probably,  for  Rupert  Ray's 
growing  up  into  the  shy  boy  we  knew).  Well,  all  of  a  sudden, 
the  boy  got  up,  stood  immediately  in  front  of  his  grandsire,  and 
leaned  forward  against  his  knees.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
meaning  in  the  child's  eyes ;  they  said  plainly :  "This  is  entirely 
the  best  attitude  for  story-telling,  so  please." 

The  officer,  with  military  quickness,  summed  up  the  perilous 
situation  on  his  front ;  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  bombarded 
by  a  pair  of  patient  eyes.  And  now  he  must  either  acknowledge 
his  incompetence  by  a  shameful  retreat,  or  he  must  stir  up  the 
dump  of  his  imagination  and  see  what  stories  it  contained.  So 
with  no  small  apprehension,  he  drew  upon  his  inventive  genius. 

A  wonderful  story  resulted — wonderful  as  a  prophetic 
parable  of  things  which  the  Colonel  would  not  live  to  see. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  coincidence  that  it  should  be  so ;  perhaps 
the  approach  of  death  endowed  the  old  gentleman  with  the  gift 
of  dim  prophecy — did  he  not  know  that  he  would  follow  the 
swallows  away  ? — perhaps  all  the  Rays,  when  they  stand  in  that 


A  Prologue  hy  Padre  Monty  15 

shadow,  possess  a  mystic  vision.  Certainly  the  boy  Rupert — 
but  there !     I  knew  I  was  in  clanger  of  spoiling  his  story. 

If  the  Colonel's  tale  this  morning  was  wonderful  to  the 
listener,  the  author  suspected  that  he  was  plagiarising.  The 
hero  was  a  knight  of  peculiar  grace,  who  sustained  the  spotless 

name  of  Sir  R —  R .    He  was  not  very  handsome,  having 

hair  that  was  neither  gold  nor  brown,  and  a  brace  of  absurdly 
sea-blue  eyes.  But  he  was  distinguished  by  many  estimable 
qualities;  he  was  English,  for  example,  and  not  French,  very 
brave,  very  sober,  and  quite  fond  of  an  elderly  relation.  And 
one  day  he  was  undoubtedly  (although  the  Colonel's  conscience 
pricked  him)  plunging  on  foot  through  a  dense  forest  to  the 
aid  of  a  fellow-knight  who  had  been  captured  and  imprisoned. 

"What  was  the  other  knight  like?"  interrupted  Rupert. 

''What,  indeed?"  echoed  the  Colonel,  temporising  till  he 
should  evolve  an  answer.    "Yes,  that's  a  very  relevant  question. 

Well,  he  was  a  good  deal  fairer  than  Sir  R —  R ,  but  about 

the  same  age,  only  with  brown  eyes,  and  he  was  a  very  nice 
little  boy — young  fellow,  I  mean." 

"What  was  his  name  ?" 

"His  name?     Oh,  well "  and  here  the  Colonel,  feeling 

with  some  taste  that  "Smith,"  or  "Jones,"  or  "Robinson"  was 
out  of  place  in  a  forest  whose  mediaeval  character  was  palpable, 
and  being  quite  unable  at  such  short  notice  to  recall  any  other 
English  names,  gained  time  by  the  following  ingenious  detail: 
"Oh,  well,  he  lost  his  good  name  by  being  captured.     And 

then — and  then  to  his  aid  came  the  stalwart  Sir  R ,  with  his 

sword  drawn,  and  his — er " 

"Revoller,"  suggested  the  listener. 

"Yes,  his  revolver  fixed  to  his  chain-mail " 

In  this  strain  the  Colonel  proceeded,  wondering  whether  such 
abominable  nonsense  was  interesting  the  child,  whose  gaze  had 
now  begun  to  reach  out  to  sea.  In  reality  Rupert  was  thrilled, 
and  did  not  like  to  disturb  the  flow  of  a  story  so  affecting.  But 
the  strength  of  his  feelings  was  too  much.  He  was  obliged  to 
suggest  an  amendment. 

"Are  you  sure  I  didn't  go  upon  a  horse  ?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  of  course,  the  unknown  knight  in  question  did,  and 
the  sheath  of  his  sword  clanked  against  his  horse's  side,  as  he 
dashed  through  the  thicket." 


16  Tell  England 

"Had  the  fair-haired  knight  anything  to  eat  all  this 
time?" 

This  important  problem  was  duly  settled,  and  several  others 
which  were  seen  to  be  involved  in  such  an  intricate  story ;  and  a 
very  happy  conclusion  was  reached,  when  Mrs.  Ray  decided 
that  it  was  time  for  Rupert  to  be  taken  home.  She  was  about 
to  lead  him  away,  when  the  Colonel,  who  seldom  spoke  to  her 
much,  abruptly  murmured : 

*'He  has  that  Rupert's  eyes." 

For  a  moment  she  was  quite  taken  aback,  and  then  timorously 
replied :  "Yes,  they  are  very  blue." 

"Very  blue,"  repeated  the  Colonel. 

Mrs.  Ray  thereupon  felt  she  must  obviate  an  uncomfortable 
silence,  and  began  with  a  nervous  laugh : 

"He  was  born  when  we  were  in  Geneva,  you  know,  and  we 
used  to  call  him  *our  mountain  boy,'  saying  that  he  had  brought 
a  speck  of  the  mountain  skies  away  in  his  eyes." 

The  Colonel  conceded  a  smile,  but  addressed  his  reply  to  the 
child:  "A  mountain  boy,  is  he?"  and,  placing  his  hand  on 
Rupert's  head,  he  turned  the  small  face  upward,  and  watched  it 
break  into  a  smile.  "Well,  well.  A  mountain  boy,  eh  ? — from 
the  lake  of  Geneva.    H'm.    //  a  dans  les  yeux  un  coin  du  lac/' 

At  this  happy  description  the  tears  of  pleasure  sprang  to  the 
foolish  eyes  of  Mrs.  Ray,  while  Rupert,  thinking  with  much 
wisdom  that  all  the  conditions  were  favourable,  gazed  up  into 
the  Colonel's  face,  and  fired  his  last  shot. 

"What  really  was  the  fair-haired  knight's  name  ?" 

"Perhaps  you  will  know  some  day,"  answered  the  Colonel, 
half  playfully,  half  wearily. 


§2 

In  the  course  of  the  same  summer  Master  Archibald  Penny- 
bet,  of  Wimbledon,  celebrated  his  eighth  birthday.  He  cele- 
brated it  by  a  riotous  waking-up  in  the  sleeping  hours  of  dawn ; 
he  celebrated  it  by  a  breakfast  which  extended  him  so  much 
that  his  skin  became  unbearably  tight ;  and  then,  in  a  new  white 
sailor-suit  and  brown  stockings  turned  over  at  the  calves  to 
display  a  couple  of  magnificent  knees,  he  celebrated  some  more 


A  Prologue  by  Padre  Monty  17 

of  it  in  the  garden.  There  on  the  summer  lawn  he  stood,  un- 
consciously deliberating  how  best  to  give  new  expression  to  the 
personality  of  Archibald  Pennybet.  He  was  dark,  gloriously 
built,  and  possessed  eyes  that  lazily  drooped  by  reason  of  their 
heavy  lashes ;  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he  evoked  from  a  boudoir 
window  the  gurgling  admiration  of  his  fashionable  mother, 
who,  while  her  hair  was  being  dressed,  allowed  her  glance  to 
swing  from  her  fiand-mirror,  which  framed  a  gratifying  vision 
of  herself,  to  the  window,  which  framed  a  still  more  gratifying 
vision  of  her  son.  "He  gets  his  good  looks  from  me,"  she 
thought.  And,  having  noticed  the  drooping  of  his  eyelids,  over- 
weighted with  lashes,  she  brought  her  hand-mirror  into  play 
again.  "He  is  lucky,"  she  added,  "to  have  inherited  those  lazy 
eyes  from  me." 

Soon  Archie  retired  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen-garden. 
The  kitchen-garden,  with  its  opportunities  of  occasional  re- 
freshment such  as  would  not  add  uncomfortably  to  his  present 
feeling  of  tightness,  was  the  place  for  a  roam.  Five  minutes 
later  he  was  leaning  against  the  wire-netting  of  the  chicken- 
run,  and  offering  an  old  cock,  who  asked  most  pointedly  for 
bread,  a  stone.  To  know  how  to  spend  a  morning  was  no  easier 
on  a  birthday  than  on  any  ordinary  day. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  overheard  the  gardener  mentioning  a 
murder  which  had  been  committed  on  Wimbledon  Common, 
a  fine  tract  of  wild  jungle  and  rolling  prairie,  that  lay  across  the 
main  road.  Without  waiting  to  prosecute  inquiries  which 
would  have  told  him  that,  although  the  confession  was  only  in 
the  morning  papers,  the  murder  was  twenty  years  old,  he 
escaped  unseen  and  set  his  little  white  figure  on  a  walk  through 
the  common.    He  was  out  to  see  the  blood. 

But,  for  a  birthday,  it  was  a  disappointing  morning.  He 
discovered  for  the  first  time  that  Wimbledon  Common  occupied 
an  interminable  expanse  of  country ;  and  really  there  was  noth- 
ing unusual  this  morning  about  its  appearance,  or  about  the 
looks  of  the  people  whom  he  passed.  So  he  gave  up  his  quest 
and  returned  homeward.  Then  it  was  that  his  lazy  eyes  looked 
down  a  narrow,  leafy  lane  that  ran  along  the  high  wall  of  his 
own  garden.  Now  all  Wimbledon  suspects  that  this  lane  was 
designed  by  the  Corporation  as  a  walk  for  lovers.  There  is 
evidence  of  the  care  and  calculation  that  one  spends  on  a 


18  Tell  England 

chicken-run.  For  the  Corporation,  knowing  the  practice  of 
lovers,  has  placed  in  the  shady  recesses  of  the  lane  a  seat  where 
these  comical  people  can  intertwine.  At  the  sight  of  the  lane 
and  the  seat,  Master  Pennybet  immediately  decided  how  he 
would  occupy  his  afternoon.  He  would  move  that  seat  along 
his  garden  wall,  till  it  rested  beneath  some  ample  foliage  where 
he  could  lie  hidden.  Then  he  would  wait  the  romantic  moments 
of  the  evening. 

This  idea  proved  so  exciting  that  the  luncheon  of  which  he 
partook  was  (for  a  birthday)  regrettably  small.  And  no  sooner 
was  it  finished  than  he  rushed  into  the  lane,  and  addressed  his 
splendid  muscles  to  removing  the  seat. 

To  begin  with  he  tried  pushing.  This  failed.  The  more  he 
pushed  the  mare  his  end  of  the  seat  went  up  into  the  air,  while 
the  other  remained  fast  in  the  ground.  The  only  time  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  seat  travel  at  all  it  went  so  fast  that  it  laid 
him  on  his  stomach  in  the  lane.  So  he  tried  pulling  from  the 
other  end.  This  was  only  partially  successful.  The  seat  moved 
towards  him  with  jerks,  at  one  time  arriving  most  damnably 
on  his  shins,  and  at  another  throwing  him  into  a  sitting  position 
on  to  the  ground.  And  there  is  a  portion  of  small  boys  which 
is  very  sensitive  to  stony  ground.  At  these  repeated  checks  the 
natural  child  in  Mr.  Pennybet  caused  his  eyes  to  become  moist, 
whereupon  the  strong  and  unconquerable  man  in  him  choked 
back  a  sob  of  temper,  and  pulled  the  seat  with  a  passionate 
determination.  I  tell  you,  such  indomitable  grit  will  always 
get  its  way,  and  the  seat  was  well  lodged  against  Mr.  Pennybet's 
wall  and  beneath  his  green  fastness,  before  the  afternoon 
blushed  into  the  lovers'  hour.  He  returned  into  his  garden, 
and,  climbing  up  the  wall  by  means  of  the  mantling  ivy,  reached 
his  chosen  observation-post.  Through  curtains  of  greenery  he 
watched  the  arrival  of  a  pair  of  lovers,  and  held  his  breath,  as 
they  seated  themselves  beneath  him. 

They  were  an  even  more  ridiculous  couple  than  their  kind 
usually  are.  And,  when  the  gentleman  squeezed  the  lady,  she 
laughed  so  foolishly  that  Archie  Pennybet  was  within  an  ace  of 
forgetting  himself  and  heartily  laughing  too.  It  was  worse  still, 
when  they  began  the  pernicious  practice  of  "rubbing  noses." 
For  the  operation  was  so  new  and  unexpected,  and  withal  so 
congenial  to  Archie,  that  he  risked  discovery  by  craning  for- 


A  Prolog  lie  by  Padre  Monty  19 

ward  to  study  it.  He  watched  with  jaws  parted  in  a  wide  gape 
of  amazement,  and  then  said  to  himself :  *'Well,  Vm  damned!" 
There  is  but  one  step  (I  am  told)  from  rubbing  noses  to  the  real 
business  of  the  kiss.  And  it  was  when  the  gentleman  brought 
the  lady's  lips  into  contact  with  his  own,  and  the  peculiar  sound 
was  heard  in  the  lane,  that  Mr.  Pennybet's  moment  had  come. 

"Hem !  Hem !  Oh,  I  say !"  he  suggested  loudly,  and  sought 
safety  by  slipping  rapidly  down  his  side  of  the  wall,  scratching 
his  hands  and  bare  knees  as  he  fell. 

This  fine  triumph  had  been  at  a  cost.  Archie  surveyed  him- 
self. His  new  suit  was  clearly  disreputable.  And,  in  his 
mother's  eyes,  the  one  crime  punishable  by  whipping  was  to 
make  a  new  suit  disreputable.  The  more  he  studied  the  extent 
of  the  damage,  the  more  he  felt  convinced  that,  in  the  expiation 
of  this  potty  little  offence,  his  body  would  be  commandeered  to 
play  a  painful  and  rather  passive  part. 

His  brain,  therefore,  worked  rapidly  and  well.  It  was  more 
than  possible,  thought  he,  that  his  mother's  sympathy  could  be 
induced  to  exceed  her  indignation.  She  was  really  an  affection- 
ate woman ;  and  this  was  the  line  to  go  upon.  So  he  squeezed 
the  scratches  in  his  knees  to  expedite  the  issue  of  blood,  and 
bravely  entered  tRe  house. 

"Mother,"  he  called,  introducing  suitable  pathos  into  his 
tones,  "Mother,  I've  fallen  all  down  the  wall !" 

This  effective  opening,  should  it  seem  successful,  it  was  his 
intention  to  follow  up  with  seasonable  allusions  to  his  birthday. 
But  alas !  one  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Pennybet's  face  when  she  saw 
his  suit,  showed  him  the  folly  of  remaining  on  the  scene,  and 
with  the  speed  of  a  fawn,  he  was  out  in  the  garden,  and  up  an 
elm  tree,  swaying  about  like  a  crow's  nest.  And  there,  a  minute 
later,  was  Mrs.  Pennybet  standing  below,  her  skirts  held  up  in 
one  hand,  a  small  cane  in  the  other. 

"Come  down,  Archie,"  she  said.     *'Come  down." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  her  son.     "You  come  up  !*' 


At  least  Mrs.  Pennybet,  a  vivacious  raconteuse,  always  de- 
clared to  me  that  such  was  his  reply.  I  do  not  trust  these 
mothers,  however,  and  regard  it  as  a  piece  of  her  base  em- 


20  Tell  England 

broidery.  At  any  rate,  it  is  certain  that  her  effort  to  secure 
Archie  for  punishment  was  quite  unsuccessful.  And,  an  hour 
afterwards,  a  small  figure  came  quietly  down  the  trunk  of  the 
tree,  and,  entering  the  room  where  his  mother  was,  sat  quickly 
in  a  big  arm-chair,  and  held  on  tightly  to  its  arms.  This  position 
prevented  access  to  that  particular  area  of  Archie  Pennybet, 
which,  in  the  view  of  himself,  his  mother,  and  all  sound  con- 
servatives, must  be  exposed,  if  corporal  punishment  is  to  be  the 
standard  thing.  Mrs.  Pennybet,  good  woman,  admitted  her 
defeat,  and  kissed  him  repeatedly,  while  he  still  held  himself 
tight  in  his  chair. 

Such  was  Archie  Pennybet,  whom  Mrs.  Pennybet  considered 
a  remarkably  fine  boy,  and  the  son  of  a  remarkably  fine  woman. 
In  this  battle  of  wits  he  undoubtedly  won.  And  it  is  a  fact  that 
throughout  life  he  made  a  point  of  winning,  as  all  shall  see,  who 
read  Rupert  Ray's  story. 

He  was  a  mischievous,  tumbling  scamp,  I  suppose ;  but  what 
are  we  to  say?  All  young  animals  gambol,  and  are  saucy. 
Only  this  morning  I  was  watching  a  lamb  butt  its  mother  in  the 
ribs,  and  roll  in  the  grass,  and  dirty  its  wool — the  graceless 
young  rascal ! 

§3 

But  come,  we  are  keeping  Edgar  Gray  Doe  waiting. 

If  you  have  ever  steamed  up  the  Estuary  of  the  Fal,  that 
stately  Cornish  river,  and  gazed  with  rapture  at  the  lofty  and 
thick-wooded  hills,  through  which  the  wide  stream  runs,  you 
have  probably  seen  on  the  eastern  bank  the  splendid  mansion  of 
Graysroof.  You  have  admired  its  doric  fagade  and  the  deep, 
green  groves  that  embrace  it  on  every  side.  Perhaps  it  has 
been  pointed  out  to  you  as  the  home  of  Sir  Peter  Gray,  the  once- 
famous  Surrey  bowler,  and  the  parent  of  a  whole  herd  of  young 
cricketing  Grays. 

It  was  in  this  palatial  dwelling  that  little  Edgar  Gray  Doe 
awoke  to  a  consciousness  of  himself,  and  of  many  other  remark- 
able things;  such  things  as  the  broad,  silver  mouth  of  the  Fal; 
the  green  slopes,  on  which  his  house  stood;  the  rather  fear- 
some woods  that  surrounded  it ;  and,  above  all,  the  very  obvious 
fact  that  he  was  not  as  other  boys.    For  instance,  his  cricketing 


A  Prologue  by  Padre  Monty  21 

cousins,  these  Gray  boys,  were  sons  with  a  visible  mother  and 
father,  and,  in  being  so,  appeared  to  conform  to  a  normal  con- 
dition, while  he  was  a  nephew  with  an  uncle  and  aunt.  Again 
these  fellows  were  blue-eyed  and  drab,  and,  as  such,  were  decent 
and  reasonable,  while  he  was  brown-eyed  and  preposterously 
fair-haired.  To  be  sure,  it  was  only  his  oval  face  that  saved 
him  from  the  horrible  indignity  of  being  called  "Snowball." 

One  morning  of  that  perfect  summer,  which  was  the  sixth 
of  Rupert  Ray,  and  the  eighth  of  Archie  Penny  bet,  Edgar  Gray 
Doe  felt  some  elation  at  the  prospect  of  a  visit  from  a  very 
imposing  friend.  This  person  was  staying  down  the  stream 
at  Falmouth ;  and  he  and  his  mother  had  been  invited  by  Lady 
Gray  to  spend  the  day  at  Graysroof.  His  name  was  Archie 
Pennybet.  And  the  power  of  his  personality  lay  in  these  re- 
markable qualities:  first,  he  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  being 
two  years  older  than  Master  Doe ;  secondly,  he  had  a  genius  for 
games  that  thrilled,  because  they  were  clearly  sin ;  and  thirdly, 
his  hair  was  dark  and  glossy,  so  he  could  legitimately  twit  other 
people  with  being  albinos. 

And  to-day  this  exciting  creature  would  have  to  devote  him- 
self entirely  to  Edgar  Doe,  as  the  Gray  boys  were  safely  billeted 
in  public  and  preparatory  schools,  and  there  was  thus  no  sicken- 
ing possibility  of  his  chasing  after  them,  or  going  on  to  their 
side  against  Edgar. 

Edgar  Doe  knew  that  Mrs.  Pennybet  and  Archie  were  coming 
in  a  row-boat  from  Falmouth,  and  it  was  a  breathless  moment 
when  he  saw  them  stepping  on  to  the  Graysroof  landing-stage, 
and  Lady  Gray  walking  down  the  sloping  lawn  to  meet  them. 

"Hallo,  kid,"  shouted  Archie.    "Mother,  there's  Edgar!" 

Rather  startled  by  this  sudden  notoriety,  Edgar  approached 
the  new  arrivals. 

"Hallo,  kid,"  repeated  Master  Pennybet;  and  then  stopped, 
his  supply  of  greetings  being  exhausted. 

"Hallo,"  answered  Edgar,  slowly  and  rather  shyly,  for  he 
was  two  years  younger  than  anyone  present. 

"Welcome  to  the  Fal,"  said  Lady  Gray  to  Mrs.  Pennybet. 
"Archie,  are  you  going  to  give  me  a  kiss  ?" 

"No,"  announced  Archie  firmly.  "I  don't  kiss  mother's 
friends  now." 

Lady  Gray  concealed  the  fact  that  she  thought  her  guest's 


22  Tell  England 

little  boy  a  hateful  child,  and,  having  patted  his  head,  sent  him 
off  with  Edgar  Doe  to  play  in  the  Day-nursery. 

Of  course  the  Master  of  the  Ceremonies  in  the  Day-nursery 
was  Master  Pennybet.  Master  Doe  was  his  devoted  mate. 
The  first  game  was  a  disgusting  one,  called  "Spits."  It  con- 
sisted in  the  two  combatants  facing  each  other  with  open  um- 
brellas, and  endeavouring  to  register  points  by  the  method 
suggested  in  the  title  of  the  game ;  the  umbrella  was  a  shield, 
with  which  to  intercept  any  good  shooting.  Luckily  for  their 
self-respect  in  later  years,  this  difficult  game  soon  yielded  place 
to  an  original  competition,  known  as  *Tire  and  Water."  You 
placed  a  foot-bath  under  that  portable  gas-stove  which  was  in 
the  Day-nursery ;  you  lit  all  the  trivets  in  the  stove  to  represent 
a  house  on  fire ;  and  you  had  a  pail,  ready  to  be  filled  from  the 
bathroom,  which,  need  we  say,  was  the  fire-station.  The  rules 
provided  that  the  winner  was  he  who  could  extinguish  the 
conflagration  raging  in  the  foot-bath  in  the  shortest  possible 
time,  and  with  the  least  expenditure  of  water.  But  the  natural 
desire  to  win  and  to  record  good  times  meant  that  you  were 
apt,  in  the  haste  and  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  to  miss  the 
bath  entirely,  and  to  flood  quite  a  different  part  of  the  nursery. 
It  was  this  flaw  in  an  otherwise  simple  game,  which  brought 
the  play  to  an  end.  Intimations  that  an  aquatic  tourney  of  some 
sort  was  the  feature  in  the  Day-nursery  began  to  leak  through 
to  the  room  below.  The  competitors  were  apprehended  and 
brought  for  judgment  before  the  ladies,  who  were  sitting  in  the 
garden  and  watching  the  Fal  as  it  streamed  by  to  the  sea. 

"They  had  better  go  and  play  in  the  Beach  Grove,"  sighed 
Lady  Gray. 

This  ruling  Archie  did  not  veto  or  contest,  for  he  had  wearied 
of  indoor  amusements,  and  felt  that  the  well-timbered  groves 
would  afford  new  avenues  for  play.  So  the  boys  departed  like 
deer  among  the  trunks  of  the  trees. 

It  was  a  cosy  conversation  which  the  ladies  enjoyed  after 
this.  Any  conversation  would  be  cosy  that  had  been  reared  in 
the  glory  of  such  a  garden,  and  in  tilie  comfort  of  those  lazy 
chairs.  Mrs.  Pennybet  began  by  declaring,  as  these  shameless 
ladies  do,  that  her  hostess's  fair-haired  nephew  was  quite  the 
most  beautiful  child  she  had  ever  seen ;  she  could  hug  him  all 
day ;  nay,  she  could  eat  him.    And,  thereupon  Lady  Gray  told 


A  Prologv£  hy  Padre  Monty  23 

her  the  whole  story  of  Edgar  Gray  Doe ;  how  his  mother  had 
been  Sir  Peter's  sister,  and  the  loveliest  woman  in  Western 
Cornwall;  how  she  had  paid  with  her  life  for  Edgar's  being; 
and  how  her  husband,  the  chief  of  lovers,  had  quickly  followed 
his  young  bride. 

"They're  an  emotional  lot,  these  Does,"  said  Lady  Gray. 
"As  surely  as  they  come  fair-haired,  they  are  brilliantly 
romantic  and  blindly  adoring.  And  Edgar's  every  inch  a  Doe. 
Anybody  can  lead  him  into  mischief.  And  anybody  who  likes 
will  do  so." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  he's  troublesome  like  all  boys,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Penny  bet,  with  a  rapid  mental  survey  of  the  existence  of 
Archie.    "He  will  grow  into  a  fine  man  some  day." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Lady  Gray,  staring  over  the  tranquil  water 
of  the  Fal,  as  though  it  represented  the  intervening  years.  "We 
shall  see." 

"And  Archie,"  continued  Mrs.  Pennybet,  "though  he's  a 
plague  now,  will  be  a  brilliant  and  dominating  man,  I  think. 
He's  not  easily  mastered,  and  I  don't  believe  adverse  circum- 
stances will  ever  beat  him.  .  .  .  Isn't  it  funny  to  think  that 
these  restless  boys  are  her  i  to  inherit  the  world  ?  We  old 
fogies" — Mrs.  Pennybet  laughed,  for  she  didn't  mean  what 
she  said — "are  really  done  for  and  shelved.  These  boys  are  the 
interesting  ones,  whose  tales  have  yet  to  be  told." 

The  speaker  dropped  her  voice,  as  she  found  herself  moral- 
ising; and  Lady  Gray  perceived  that  an  atmosphere  of  tender 
speculation  had  risen  around  their  conversation.  She  turned 
her  face  away,  and  looked  over  that  part  of  the  inheritable 
world  which  met  her  gaze.  From  her  feet  perfect  lawns  sloped 
down  to  a  gracious  waterway,  which  shuddered  occasionally  in 
a  gentle  wind;  on  every  side  pleasing  trees  were  massed  into 
shady  and  grateful  woods;  overhead  the  noonday  sun  lit  up  a 
deep-blue  sky.  Perhaps  the  sublimity  of  the  scene  played  upon 
her  softer  emotions.  Perhaps  all  intense  beauty  is  pathetic,  and 
makes  one  think  of  poor  illusions  and  unavailing  dreams.  Lady 
Gray  wondered  why  she  could  not  feel,  on  this  serene  morning, 
the  same  confidence  in  Edgar  Doe's  future,  as  her  friend  felt 
in  Archie's ;  why  she  should  rather  be  conscious  of  a  romantic 
foreboding.     But  she  only  murmured : 

"Yes,  we  must  bow  before  sovereign  youth." 


24  Tell  England 

And  that  was  the  last  word  uttered,  till  the  sound  of  hearty 
boys'  voices,  coming  from  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  prompted 
Mrs.  Pennybet  to  say  cheerfully : 

"Here  they  come,  the  heirs  to  the  world." 

As  she  spoke,  Archie  Pennybet,  dark  and  dictatorial,  and 
Edgar  Doe,  fair  and  enthusiastic,  came  into  view. 

"Yes,"  replied  Lady  Gray,  "but  only  two  of  them.  There  are 
others  they  must  share  it  with.     Shall  we  go  indoors  ?" 

And  indoors  or  out-of-doors,  that  was  a  very  delightful  day 
spent  at  Graysroof .  And,  when  the  sun's  rays  began  to  grow 
ruddy,  there  came  the  pleasant  journey  down  the  Estuary  to 
Falmouth  Town.  Mrs.  Pennybet  and  her  son  were  rowed 
homeward  by  Baptist,  that  sombre  boatman  employed  at  Grays- 
roof, in  Master  Doe's  own  particular  boat.  "The  Lady  Fal/' 
men  called  it,  from  the  dainty  conceit  that  it  was  the  spouse  of 
the  lordly  Estuary.  Edgar  Doe  accompanied  them,  as  the 
master  of  his  craft. 

Nobody  talked  much  during  the  voyage.  Baptist  was  always 
too  solemn  for  speech.  Master  Doe,  on  these  occasions,  liked  to 
dream  with  one  hand  trailing  in  the  water.  Master  Pennybet, 
in  the  common  way  of  tired  children,  finished  the  day  in  listless 
woolgathering.  And  his  mother,  recalling  the  conversation  in 
the  stately  garden  up  the  stream,  fell  to  wondering  whither 
these  boys  were  tending. 

So  the  passage  down  the  full  and  slumbery  Fal  seemed  nearly 
a  soundless  thing.  But  all  the  real  river-noises  were  there ;  the 
birds  were  singing  endlessly  in  the  groves ;  the  gulls  with  their 
hoarse  language  were  flying  seawards  from  the  mud-flats  of 
Truro ;  the  water  was  gently  lapping  the  sides  of  the  boat ;  and 
voices  could  be  heard  from  the  distances  higher  up  and  lower 
down  the  stream.  And  behind  all  this  prattle  of  the  Estuary 
hung  the  murmur  of  the  sea. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  boat  that  unladed  the  Pennybets  oh  the 
steps  of  a  stone  pier  at  Falmouth,  and  then  swung  round  and 
carried  Edgar  up  its  own  wake.  Baptist  was  a  glorious  hand 
with  the  paddles,  and,  as  the  Lady  Fal  swept  easily  over  the 
glassy  water,  Edgar  gazed  at  the  familiar  things  coming  into 
view.  There,  at  last,  was  the  huge  house  of  Graysroof,  belittled 
by  the  loftiness  of  the  quilted  hill,  on  whose  slope  it  stood,  and 
by  the  extent  of  its  surrounding  woods.     And  there  in  the 


A  Prologue  hy  Padre  Monty  25 

water  lay  mirrored  a  reflection  of  house  and  trees  and  hillside. 
Baptist  rested  on  his  oars,  and,  turning  round  on  his  seat, 
drank  in  the  loveliness  of  England  and  the  Fal.  His  oars  re- 
mained motionless  for  a  long  time,  till  he  suddenly  commented : 

"H'm." 

This  encouraging  remark  Master  Doe  interpreted  as  a  will- 
ingness to  converse,  and  he  let  escape  a  burst  of  confidence. 

"You  know,  I  like  Archie  Pennybet  very  much  indeed.  In 
fack,  I  think  I  like  him  better  than  anyone  else  in  the  world, 
'septing  of  course  my  relations." 

Watching  his  hearer  nervously  to  see  how  he  would  receive 
this  important  avowal.  Master  Doe  flushed  when  he  saw  no 
signs  of  emotion  on  Baptist's  countenance.  He  didn't  like 
thinking  he  had  made  himself  look  a  fool.  Probably  Baptist 
perceived  this,  for  he  felt  he  must  contrive  a  reply,  and, 
abandoning  ''H'm"  as  too  uncouth  and  too  unflavoured  with 
sympathy,  gave  of  his  best,  muttering : 

''Ah,  he's  one  of  we." 

Then,  realising  that  the  sun  had  gone  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and 
that  he  must  waste  no  further  time  in  prolonged  gossip,  he 
dipped  his  blade  into  the  still  water,  and  turned  the  head  of  the 
boat  for  the  Graysroof  bank ;  and  for  the  things  that  should  be. 


BOOK  I 
FIVE  GAY  YEARS  OF  SCHOOL 


Part  I:    Tidal  Reaches 

CHAPTER  I 

RUPERT  RAY  BEGINS  HIS  STORY 
§1 

I'M  the  best-looking  person  in  this  room,"  said  Archibald 
Pennybet.  "Ray's  face  looks  as  though  somebody  had 
trodden  on  it,  and  Doe's — well,  Doe's  would  be  better  if  it  had 
been  trodden  on." 

It  was  an  early  morning  of  the  Kensingtowe  Summer  Term, 
and  the  three  of  us,  Archie  Pennybet,  Edgar  Gray  Doe,  and  I, 
Rupert  Ray,  were  waiting  in  the  Junior  Preparation  Room  at 
Bramhall  House,  till  the  bell  should  summon  us  over  the  playing 
fields  to  morning  school.  Kensingtowe,  of  course,  is  the  finest 
school  in  England,  and  Bramhall  its  best  house.  Now,  Penny- 
bet, though  not  himself  courteous,  always  insisted  that  Doe  and 
I  should  treat  him  with  proper  respect,  so,  since  he  was  senior 
and  thus  magnificent,  I'll  begin  by  describing  him. 

He  was  right  in  saying  that  he  was  the  handsomest.  He  was 
a  tall  boy  of  fifteen  years,  with  long  limbs  that  were  saved  from 
any  unlovely  slimness  by  their  full-fleshed  curves  and  perfect 
straightness.  His  face,  whose  skin  was  as  smooth  as  that  of  a 
bathed  and  anointed  Greek,  was  crowned  by  dark  hair,  and 
made  striking  by  a  pair  of  those  long-lashed  eyes  that  are 
always  brown.  And  in  character  he  was  the  most  remarkable. 
Though  two  years  our  senior,  he  deliberately  lagged  behind  the 
boys  of  his  own  age,  and  remained  the  oldest  member  of  our 
form.  Thoughtless  masters  called  him  a  dunce,  but  abler  ones 
knew  him  to  be  only  idle.  And  Pennybet  cared  little  for  either 
opinion.  He  had  schemed  to  remain  in  a  low  form;  and  that 
was  enough.     It  was  better  to  be  a  field-marshal  among  the 

29 


30  Tell  England  book  i 

"kids"  than  a  ranker  among  his  peers.  Like  Satan,  for  whom 
he  probably  felt  a  certain  admiration,  he  found  it  better  to 
reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven. 

The  personal  attendants  of  this  splendid  sultan  consisted  of 
Edgar  Doe  and  myself.  We  were  not  allowed  by  him  to  forget 
that,  if  he  could  total  fifteen  years,  we  could  only  scrape  to- 
gether a  bare  thirteen.  We  were  mere  children.  Doe  and  I, 
being  thirteen  and  an  exact  number  of  days,  were  twins,  or  we 
would  have  been,  had  it  not  been  for  the  divergence  of  our 
parentage.  We  often  expressed  a  wish  that  this  divergence 
were  capable  of  remedy.  It  involved  minor  differences.  For 
instance,  while  Doe's  eyes  were  brown,  mine  were  blue;  and 
while  Doe's  hair  was  very  fair,  mine  was  a  tedious  drab  that 
had  once  been  gold.  Moreover,  in  place  of  my  wide  mouth, 
Doe  possessed  lips  that  were  always  parted  like  those  of  a 
pretty  girl.  Indeed,  if  Archie  Pennybet  was  the  handsomest  of 
us  three,  it  is  certain  that  Edgar  Gray  Doe  was  the  prettiest. 

We  came  to  be  discussing  our  looks  this  morning,  because 
Pennybet,  having  discovered  that  among  other  accomplishments 
he  was  a  fine  ethnologist,  was  about  to  determine  the  race  and 
tribe  of  each  of  us  by  an  examination  of  our  features  and 
colouring. 

"Pm  a  Norman,"  he  decided,  and  threw  himself  back  on  his 
chair,  putting  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  as 
though  that  were  a  comely  Norman  attitude,  "a  pure  Norman, 
but  I  don't  know  how  my  hair  got  so  dark,  and  my  eyes  such  a 
spiffing  brown." 

"What  am  I?"  I  interrupted,  as  introducing  a  subject  of 
more  immediate  interest. 

"You,  Ray  ?  Oh,  you're  a  Saxon.  Your  name's  Rupert,  you 
see,  and  you've  blue  eyes  and  a  fair  skin,  and  all  that  rot." 

I  was  quite  satisfied  with  being  a  pure  Saxon,  and  left  Doe  to 
his  examination. 

"What  am  I?"  he  eagerly  asked,  offering  his  oval  face  and 
parted  lips  for  scrutiny. 

"You  ?  Oh,  Saxon,  with  a  dash  of  Southern  blood.  Brown 
eyes,  you  see,  and  that  sloppy  milk-and-coffee  skin.  And  there's 
a  dash  of  Viking  in  you — that's  your  fair  hair.  Adulterated 
Saxon  you  are." 


PART  I         Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  81 

At  this  Doe  loudly  protested  that  he  was  a  pure  Saxon,  a 
perfect  Cornish  Saxon  from  the  banks  of  the  Fal. 

Penny  always  discouraged  precocious  criticism,  so  he  replied: 

"I'm  not  arguing  with  you,  my  child." 

''You?    Who  are  you?" 

Penny  let  his  thumbs  go  further  into  his  armholes,  and 
assured  us  with  majestic  suavity: 

'1?    VmMer 

"No,  you're  not,"  snapped  Doe.    "You're  not  me.    I'm  me." 

"Well,  you're  neither  of  you  me,"  interrupted  the  third  fool 
in  the  room.    "I'm  me.    So  sucks !" 

"Now  you  two  boys,"  began  our  stately  patron,  "don't  you 
begin  dictating  to  me.  Once  and  for  all,  Doe  is  Doe,  Ray  is 
Ray,  and  I'm  Me.  Why,  by  Jove !  Doe-Ray-Me !  It's  a  joke ; 
and  I'm  a  gifted  person." 

This  discovery  of  the  adaptability  of  our  names  was  so 
startling  that  I  exclaimed: 

"Good  Lord!     How  mad!" 

Penny  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  generally  plumed 
himself  on  his  little  success.    And  Doe  said: 

"Has  that  only  just  dawned  on  you  ?" 

"Observe,"  sneered  Penny.  "The  Gray  Doe  is  jealous.  He 
would  like  the  fame  of  having  made  this  fine  jest.  So  he  pre- 
tends he  thought  of  it  long  ago.     He  bags  it." 

"Not  worth  bagging,"  suggested  Doe,  who  was  pulling  a  lock 
of  his  pale  hair  over  his  forehead,  and  trying  with  elevated  eye- 
brows to  survey  it  critically.  His  feet  were  resting  on  a  seat  in 
front  of  him,  and  his  trousers  were  well  pulled  up,  so  as  to 
show  a  certain  tract  of  decent  sock.  Penny  scanned  him  as 
though  his  very  appearance  were  nauseating. 

"Well,  why  did  you  bag  it?" 

"I  didn't." 

"I  say,  you're  a  bit  of  a  liar,  aren't  you?" 

"Well,  if  I'm  a  bit  of  a  liar,  you're  a  lot  of  one." 

"My  dear  little  boy,"  said  Penny,  with  intent  to  hurt,  "we  all 
know  the  reputation  for  lying  you  had  at  your  last  school." 

As  we  had  all  been  at  Kensingtowe's  Preparatory  School 
together,  I  was  in  a  position  to  know  that  this  was  rather  wild, 
and  remonstrated  with  him. 

"I  say,  that's  a  bit  sticky,  isn't  it?" 


32  Tell  England  book  i 

The  nobility  of  my  interference  impressed  me  as  I  made  it. 
Meanwhile  the  angry  blood  mounted  to  Doe's  face,  but  he 
carelessly  replied ; 

"You  show  what  a  horrible  liar  you  are  by  your  last  remark. 
I  never  said  your  beastly  idea  was  mine;  and  because  you 
accused  me  of  doing  so,  and  I  said  I  didn't,  you  call  me  a  liar: 
which  is  a  dirty  lie,  if  you  like.  But  of  course  one  expects  lies 
from  you." 

'That  may  be,"  rejoined  Pennybet.  "But  you  know  you 
don't  wash." 

Doe  parried  this  thrust  with  a  sarcastic  acquiescence. 

"No,  I  know  I  don't — never  did — don't  believe  in  washing." 

Now  Penny  was  out  to  hurt.  A  mere  youngster  had  pre- 
sumed to  argue  and  be  cheeky  with  him :  and  discipline  must  be 
maintained.  To  this  end  there  must  be  punishment;  and 
punishment,  to  be  effective,  must  hurt.  So  he  adopted  a  new 
line,  and  with  his  clever  strategy  strove  to  enlist  my  support  by 
deigning  to  couple  my  name  with  his. 

"At  any  rate,"  he  drawled,  "Ray  and  I  don't  toady  to 
Radley." 

This  poisonous  little  remark  requires  some  explanation.  Mr. 
Radley,  the  assistant  house-master  at  Bramhall  House,  was  a 
hard  master,  who  would  have  been  hated  for  his  insufferable 
conceptions  of  discipline,  had  he  not  been  the  finest  bat  in  the 
Middlesex  team.  Just  about  this  time  there  was  a  libel  current 
that  he  made  a  favourite  of  Edgar  Doe  because  he  was  pretty. 
"Doe,"  I  had  once  said,  "Radley's  rather  keen  on  you,  isn't 
he?"  And  Doe  had  turned  red  and  scoffed:  "How  absolutely 
silly — but,  I  say,  do  you  really  think  so  ?"  Seeing  that  he  found 
pleasure  in  the  insinuation,  I  had  followed  it  up  with  chaff, 
upon  which  he  had  suddenly  cut  up  rough,  and  left  me  in  a 
pique. 

This  morning,  as  Penny  pricked  him  with  this  poisoned  fang, 
Doe  began  to  feel  that  for  the  moment  he  was  alone  amongst 
us  three ;  and  odd-man-out.  He  put  a  tentative  question  to  me, 
designed  to  see  whether  I  were  siding  with  him  or  with  the  foe. 

"Now,  Ray,  isn't  that  the  dirtiest  lie  he's  told  so  far  ?" 

"No,"  I  said.  I  was  still  under  the  glamour  of  having  been 
appealed  to  by  the  forceful  personality  of  Pennybet;  and, 
besides,  it  certainly  wasn't. 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  33 

"Oh,  of  course  you'd  agree  with  anything  Penny  said,  if  he 
asked  you  to.  But  you  know  you  don't  really  believe  I  ever 
sucked  up  to  Radley." 

This  rejoinder  was  bad  tactics,  for  by  its  blow  at  my  face  it 
forced  me  to  take  sides  against  him  in  the  quarrel.  So  I 
answered : 

"Rather !     Why,  you  always  do." 

"Dir-dirty  liar !" 

"Ha-ha !"  laughed  Penny.  He  saw  that  he  had  been  success- 
ful in  his  latest  thrust,  and  set  himself  to  push  home  the  advan- 
tage. The  dominance  of  his  position  must  be  secured  at  all 
costs.  He  let  down  his  heavy-lashed  eyelids,  as  though,  for  his 
part,  he  only  desired  a  peaceful  sleep,  and  said:  "Ha-ha! 
Ray,  that  friend  of  yours  is  losing  his  temper.  He's  terribly 
vicious.     Mind  he  doesn't  scratch." 

Doe's  parted  lips  came  suddenly  together,  his  face  got  red, 
and  he  moved  impatiently  as  he  sat.  But  he  said  nothing,  either 
because  the  words  would  not  come,  or  lest  something  more 
unmanly  should. 

"Ray,"  pursued  the  tormentor,  "I  think  that  friend  of  yours 
is  going  to  blub." 

Doe  left  his  seat,  and  stood  upon  his  feet,  his  lips  set  in  one 
firm  line.  He  tossed  his  hair  off  his  forehead,  and,  keeping  his 
face  averted  from  our  gaze  lest  we  should  detect  any  moisture 
about  the  eyes,  opened  a  desk,  and  selected  the  books  he  would 
require.  They  were  books  over  which  he  had  scrawled  with 
flourishes : 

"Mr.  Edgar  Gray  Doe,  Esq.," 

"E.  Gray  Doe,  M.A.," 

"Rev.  Edgar  G.  Doe,  D.D.," 

"E.  G.  Doe,  Physician  and  Surgeon," 

and,  when  he  had  placed  them  on  his  arm,  he  walked  towards 
the  door  with  his  face  still  turned  away  from  us. 

"Oh,  don't  go.  Doe.  Don't  be  a  sloppy  ass,"  I  said,  feeling 
that  I  had  been  fairly  trapped  into  deserting  a  fellow-victim, 
and  backing  our  common  tyrant. 

My  appeal  Doe  treated  as  though  he  had  not  heard  it;  and 
Penny,  certain  that  his  victory  was  won,  and  that  he  had  no 


34  Tell  England  book  i 

further  need  of  my  support,  kicked  it  away  with  the  sneer: 
*'Hit  Doe,  and  Ray's  bruised!  What  a  David  and  Jonathan 
we're  going  to  be !  How  we  agree  like  steak  and  kidney !  .  .  . 
Rather  a  nice  expression,  that/' 

Penny's  commentary  was  thus  turned  inwards  upon  himself, 
in  an  affectionate  criticism  of  his  vocabulary,  to  show  the  utter 
detachment  of  his  interest  from  the  pathetic  exit  of  Edgar  Doe. 
For  now  Doe  had  reached  the  door,  which  he  opened,  passed, 
and  slammed.  In  a  twinkling  I  had  opened  it  again,  and  was 
looking  down  the  corridor.  There  was  no  sign  of  my  friend 
anywhere.  The  moment  he  had  slammed  the  door  he  must  have 
run. 

I  returned  to  the  preparation  room,  and  Penny  sighed,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "What  a  pity  little  boys  are  so  petulant  and 
quarrelsome."  But  the  victory  was  his,  as  it  always  was,  and  he 
could  think  of  other  things.  There  was  a  clock  on  the  wall 
behind  him,  but,  too  comfortable  to  turn  his  head,  he  asked  me : 

"What's  the  beastly?" 

I  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  intimated,  sulkily  enough,  that  the 
beastly  was  twenty  minutes  past  nine.     He  groaned. 

"Oh!  Ah!  An  hour's  sweat  with  Radley.  Oh,  hang! 
Blow !    Damn !" 

He  stood  up,  stretched  himself,  yawned,  apologised,  got  his 
books,  and  occasionally  tossed  a  remark  to  me,  as  if  he  were 
quite  unaware  that  I  was  not  only  trying  to  sulk,  but  also  badly 
wanted  him  to  know  it.  As  I  looked  for  my  books,  I  sought 
for  the  rudest  and  most  painful  insult  I  could  offer  him.  My 
duty  to  Doe  demanded  that  it  should  be  something  quite  un- 
common. And  from  a  really  fine  selection  I  had  just  chosen : 
"You're  the  biggest  liar  I've  ever  met,  and,  for  all  I  know, 
you're  as  big  a  thief,"  when  I  turned  round  and  found  he  was 
gone.    Pennybet  always  left  the  field  as  its  master. 


§2 

Within  Radley 's  spacious  class-room  some  twenty  of  us  took 
our  way  to  our  desks.  Radley  mounted  his  low  platform,  and, 
resting  his  knuckles  on  his  writing-table,  gazed  down  upon  us. 
He  was  a  man  of  over  six  feet,  with  the  shoftlders,  chest,  and 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  35 

waist  of  a  forcing  batsman.  His  neck,  perhaps,  was  a  little  too 
big,  the  fault  of  a  powerful  frame;  and  the  wrist  that  came 
below  his  cuff  was  such  that  it  made  us  wonder  what  was  the 
size  of  his  forearm.  His  mouth  was  hard,  and  set  above  a 
squaring  chin,  so  that  you  thought  him  relentless,  till  his  grey 
eyes  shook  your  judgment. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  as  he  stood,  looking  down  upon  us, 
*'you  should  come  to  me  for  both  periods  this  morning.  Well, 
I  shall  probably  be  away  all  the  second  period.  You  will  come 
to  this  class-room  as  usual,  and  Herr  Reinhardt  will  take  you  in 
French." 

"Oh,  joy!"  I  muttered.  Boys  whom  Radley  could  not  see 
flipped  their  fingers  to  express  delight.  Others  lifted  up  the 
lids  of  their  desks,  and  behind  these  screens  went  through  a 
pantomime  that  suggested  pleasure  at  good  news.  The  fact 
was  that  the  announcement  that  we  were  to  have  second  period 
with  the  German,  Reinhardt,  was  as  good  as  promising  us  a 
holiday.  Nay,  it  was  rather  better ;  for,  in  an  unexpected  holi- 
day, we  might  have  been  at  a  loss  what  to  do,  whereas  under 
Reinhardt  w^e  had  no  doubt — we  played  the  fool. 

"And  now  get  on  with  your  work,"  concluded  Radley. 

We  got  on  with  it,  knowing  that  it  was  only  for  a  short  time 
that  we  need  work  that  morning. 

It  was  writing  work  I  know,  for,  after  a  while,  I  had  a  note 
surreptitiously  passed  to  me  between  folded  blotting-paper. 
The  note  bore  in  Doe's  ambitiously  ornate  writing  the  alarming 
statement :  "I  shall  never  like  you  so  much  after  what  you  said 
this  morning  Yours  Edgar  Gray  Doe."  There  was  room  for 
me  to  pen  an  answer,  and  in  my  great  round  characters  I  wrote : 
"I  never  really  meant  anything  and  after  you  left  I  tried  to  be 
rude  to  Penny  but  he'd  gone  and  will  you  still  be  my  chum 
Yours  S.  Ray."  (My  real  name  was  Rupert,  but  I  was  some- 
times nicknamed  "Sonny  Ray"  from  the  sensational  news, 
which  had  leaked  out,  that  my  mother  so  called  me,  and  I  took 
pleasure  in  signing  myself  "S.  Ray.")  My  handsome  apology 
was  passed  back  to  the  offended  party,  and  in  due  course  the 
paper  returned  to  me,  bearing  his  reply:  "I  don't  know  We 
must  talk  it  over,  but  don't  tell  anyone  Yours  Edgar  Gray 
Doe."    That  was  the  last  sentence  destined  to  be  written  on 


36  Tell  England  book  i 

this  human  document,  for  Radley,  without  looking  up  from  the 
exercise  he  was  correcting,  said  quietly : 

**In  the  space  of  the  last  five  minutes  Doe  has  twice  corre- 
sponded with  Ray,  and  Ray  has  once  replied  to  Doe.  Now  both 
Ray  and  Doe  will  come  up  here  with  the  letters." 

To  the  accompaniment  of  a  titter  or  two,  Ray  and  Doe  came 
up,  I  trying  to  look  defiantly  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
going  to  read  my  silly  remarks,  and  Doe  with  his  lips  firmly 
together,  and  his  fair  hair  the  fairer  for  the  blush  upon  his 
forehead  and  cheeks. 

Radley  left  us  standing  by  his  desk,  while  at  his  leisure  he 
finished  his  correcting;  then,  still  without  looking  up,  he 
ordered : 

"Hand  over  the  letters." 

A  little  doggedly  I  passed  over  the  single  sheet  of  paper 
feeling  some  absurd  satisfaction  that,  since  he  evidently  thought 
there  were  several  sheets  involved,  his  uncanny  knowledge  was 
at  least  wrong  in  one  particular.  Doe,  on  my  right  hand,  turned 
redder  and  redder  to  see  the  paper  going  beneath  the  master's 
eye,  and  made  a  few  nervous  grimaces.  Radley  read  the  corre- 
spondence pitilessly;  and,  with  his  hard  mouth  unrelaxed, 
turned  first  on  Doe,  as  though  sizing  him  up,  and  then  on  me. 
He  stared  at  my  face  till  I  felt  fidgety,  and  my  mind,  which 
always  in  moments  of  excitement  ran  down  most  ridiculous 
avenues,  framed  the  sentence :  "Don't  stare,  because  it's  rude," 
at  which  involuntary  thought  I  scarcely  restrained  a  nervous 
titter.    After  this  critical  inspection,  Radley  murmured : 

"Yes,  talk  your  quarrel  over.  The  bands  of  friendship 
mustn't  snap  at  a  breath." 

As  he  said  this,  Doe  edged  closer  to  me,  and  I  wondered  if 
Radley  was  a  decent  chap. 

"But  why  do  you  sign  yourself  'S.  Ray'?" 

Now  my  blush  outclassed  anything  Doe  had  yet  produced, 
and  I  looked  in  dumb  confusion  towards  my  friend.  Radley 
refrained  from  forcing  the  question,  but  pursued  with  brutal 
humour : 

"Well,  there's  nothing  like  suffering  together  to  cement  a 
friendship.    Doe,  put  out  your  knuckles." 

Radley  was  ever  a  man  of  surprises.  This  was  the  first  time 
he  had  invited  the  use  of  our  knuckles  for  his  punitive  practices. 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  37 

Doe  proffered  four  of  those  on  the  back  of  his  narrow,  cream- 
coloured  right  hand.  He  did  it  readily  enough,  but  trembled  a 
little,  and  the  blush  that  had  disappeared  returned  at  a  rush  to 
his  neck.  Radley-took  his  ruler,  and  struck  the  knuckles  with 
a  very  sharp  rap.  Doe's  lips  snapped  together  and  remained 
together, — and  that  was  all. 

*^And  Ray,"  invited  Radley. 

I  offered  the  back  of  my  right  hand,  and,  copying  my  friend, 
kept  my  lips  well  closed.  My  eyes  had  'shut  themselves  nerv- 
ously, when  I  heard  a  clatter,  and  realised  that  Radley  had 
dropped  his  ruler.  Leaving  my  right  hand  extended  for  pun- 
ishment, I  stooped  down,  picked  up  the  ruler  with  my  left,  and 
gave  it  back  to  Radley.  Perhaps  the  blood  that  now  coloured 
my  face  was  partly  due  to  this  stooping.  Radley  smiled.  It 
was  his  habit  to  become  suddenly  gentle  after  being  hard.  One 
second,  his  hard  mouth  would  frame  hard  things;  another 
second,  and  his  grey  eyes  would  redress  the  balance. 

"Ray,  you  disarm  me,"  he  said.  "Go  to  your  seats,  both  of 
you." 

Back  we  walked  abreast  to  our  places,  Doe  palpably  annoyed 
that  he  had  not  been  the  one  to  pick  up  the  ruler.  He  was  a 
romantic  youth  and  would  have  liked  to  occupy  my  picturesque 
and  rather  heroic  position. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  me  pick  up  the  ruler?"  he  whispered. 
"You  knew  I  wanted  to." 

This  utterly  senseless  remark  I  had  no  opportunity  of  an- 
swering, so  I  determined  to  sulk  with  Doe,  as  soon  as  the 
interval  should  arrive.  When,  however,  the  bell  rang  for  that 
ten-minutes'  excitement,  I  forgot  .everything  in  the  glee  of 
thinking  that  the  second  period  would  be  spent  with  Herr  Rein- 
hardt.    Ten  minutes  to  go,  and  then — and  then,  Mr.  Caesar ! 


§3 

In  the  long  corridor,  on  to  which  Radley's  class-room  opened, 
gathered  our  elated  form, -awaiting  the  arrival  of  Herr  Rein- 
hardt.  He  was  late.  He  always  was :  and  it  was  a  mistake  to 
be  so,  for  it  gave  us  the  opportunity,  when  he  drew  near,  of 


38  Tell  England  book  i 

asking  one  another  the  time  in  French:  "Kell  er  eight  eel? 
Onze  er  ay  dammy.    Wee,  wee." 

Caesar  Reinhardt,  the  German,  remains  upon  my  mind  chiefly 
as  being  utterly  unlike  a  German:  he  was  a  long  man,  very 
deaf,  with  drooping  English  moustaches,  and  such  obviously 
weak  eyes  that  now,  whenever  Leah's  little  eye-trouble  is  read 
in  Genesis,  I  always  think  of  Reinhardt.  But  I  think  of  him  as 
"Mr.  Caesar."  Why  "Mr.  Caesar"  and  not  purely  "Caesar"  I 
cannot  explain,  but  the  "Mr."  was  inseparable  from  the  nick- 
name. Good  Mr.  Caesar  was  misplaced  in  his  profession.  Had 
he  not  been  obliged  to  spend  his  working  life  in  the  position  of 
one  who  has  just  been  made  to  look  a  fool,  he  would  have  been 
an  attractive  and  lovable  person.  He  had  the  most  beautiful 
tenor  voice,  which,  when  he  spoke  was  like  liquid  silver,  and, 
when  he  sang  elaborate  opera  passages,  made  one  see  glorious 
wrought-steel  gateways  of  heavenly  palaces.  This  inefficient 
master  owed  his  position  to  the  great  vogue  enjoyed  by  his 
books :  "Reinhardt's  German  Conversation,"  "Reinhardt's 
French  Pieces,"  and  others.  But  the  boys,  by  common  consent, 
decided  not  to  identify  this  "Caesar  Reinhardt,  Modern  Lan- 
guage Master  at  Kensingtowe  School"  with  their  own  dear 
Mr.  Caesar.  Thus,  you  see,  in  their  ignorance,  they  were  able 
to  bring  up  the  Reinhardt  works  to  Mr.  Caesar,  and  say  with 
worried  brows :  "Here,  sir.  This  bally  book's  all  wrong" ;  "I 
could  write  a  better  book  than  this  myself,  sir";  "The  Johnny 
who  wrote  this  book,  sir — well,  st.  st/'  Pennybet,  however, 
used  to  tremble  on  the  brink  of  identification,  when  he  made 
the  idiotic  mistake  of  saying:  "Shall  I  bring  up  my  Caesar,  sir, 
— I  mean,  my  Reinhardt?" 

The  jubilation  of  our  class,  as  we  lolled  or  clog-danced  in  the 
corridor,  had  need  to  be  organised  into  some  systematic  fool- 
ing; and  for  once  in  a  way,  the  boys  accepted  a  suggestion  of 
mine. 

"Let's  all  hum  'God  Save  the  King'  exactly  at  twelve  o'clock. 
Mr.  Caesar  won't  hear ;  he's  too  deaf." 

Immediately  several  boys  started  to  sing  the  popular  air  in 
question,  and  others  went  for  a  slide  along  the  corridor,  both  of 
which  performances  are  generally  construed  as  meaning: 
''Right-ho!" 

"It's  crude,"  commented  Penny,  "but  I'll  not  interfere.     I 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  39 

might  even  help  you — who  knows  ?  And  here  comes  Mr.  Csesar. 
Ah,  wee,  wee." 

It  was  our  custom  to  race  in  a  body  along  the  corridor  to 
meet  Mr.  Csesar,  and  to  arrive  breathless  at  his  side,  where  we 
would  fight  to  walk,  one  on  his  right  hand,  and  another  on  his 
left.  In  the  course  of  a  brilliant  struggle  several  boys  would 
be  prostrated,  not  unwillingly.  We  would  then  escort  him  in 
triumph  to  his  door,  and  all  offer  to  turn  the  lock,  crying: 
"Let  me  have  the  key,  sir."  "Do  let  me,  sir."  "You  never  let 
me,  sir — dashed  unfair."  When  someone  had  secured  the  key, 
he  would  fling  wide  the  door,  as  though  to  usher  in  all  the  kings 
of  Asia,  but  promptly  spoil  this  courtly  action  by  racing  after 
the  door  ere  it  banged  against  the  wall,  holding  it  in  an  iron 
grip  like  a  runaway  horse,  and  panting  horribly  at  the  strain. 
This  morning  I  was  honoured  with  the  key.  I  examined  it  and 
saw  that  it  was  stuffed  up  with  dirt  and  there  would  be  some 
delay  outside  the  class-room  door  while  the  key  underwent 
alterations  and  repairs. 

"Has  any  boy,"  I  asked,  "a  pin?" 

None  had ;  but  Pennybet  offered  to  go  to  Bramhall  House  in 
search  of  one.    He  could  do  it  in  twenty  minutes,  he  said. 

"Dear  me,  how  annoying !"  I  shook  the  key,  I  hammered  it, 
I  blew  down  it  till  it  gave  forth  a  shrill  whistle,  and  Penny  said : 
"Off  side."    And  then  I  giggled  into  the  key. 

Don't  think  Mr.  Csesar  tolerated  all  this  without  a  mild 
protest.  I  distinctly  remember  his  saying  in  his  silvery  voice: 
"Give  it  to  me,  Ray.  Fll  do  it,"  and  my  replying,  as  I  looked 
up  into  his  delicate  eyes :  "No,  it's  all  right,  sir.  You  leave  it 
to  me,  sir." 

In  due  course  I  threw  open  the  door  with  a  triumphant 
*There!"  The  door  hit  the  side-wall  with  a  bang  that  upset 
the  nervous  systems  of  neighbouring  boys,  who  felt  a  little 
faint,  had  hysterics,  and  recovered.  Mr.  Csesar,  feeling  that  the 
class  was  a  trifle  unpunctual  in  starting,  hurriedly  entered. 

Then  Pennybet  distinguished  himself.  He  laid  his  books 
unconcernedly  on  the  master's  desk,  and  walked  with  a  dandy's 
dignity  to  the  window.  Having  surveyed  the  view  with  a 
critical  air,  he  faced  round  and  addressed  Mr.  Csesar  cour- 
teously: "May  I  shut  the  window  for  you,  sir?"  adding  in  a 
lower  tone  that  he  was  always  willing  to  oblige.     Without 


40  Tell  England  book  i 

waiting  for  the  permission  to  be  granted,  he  turned  round  again 
and,  pulling  up  each  sleeve  that  his  cuffs  might  not  be  soiled  in 
the  operation,  proceeded  to  turn  the  handle,  by  means  of  which 
the  lofty  window  was  closed. 

Now  there  were  four  long  windows  in  a  row,  and  they  all 
needed  shutting — this  beautiful  summer  morning.  None  of  us 
was  to  be  outdone  in  politeness  by  Penny ;  and  all  rushed  to  the 
coveted  handles  so  as  to  be  first  in  shutting  the  remaining 
windows.  The  element  of  competition  and  the  steeplechasing 
methods  necessary,  if  we  were  to  surmount  the  intervening 
desks,  made  it  all  rather  exciting.  Several  boys,  converging 
from  different  directions,  arrived  at  the  handles  at  the  same 
time.  It  was  natural,  then,  that  a  certain  amount  of  discussion 
should  follow  as  to  whose  right  it  was  to  shut  the  windows,  and 
that  the  various  little  assemblies  debating  the  point  should  go 
and  refer  the  question  simultaneously  to  Mr.  Caesar. 

Mr.  Caesar  gave  his  answer  with  some  emphasis : 

"Will— you— all— sit— down  ?" 

This  rhetorical  question  being  in  the  nature  of  a  command, 
we  sullenly  complied,  tossing  our  heads  to  show  our  sense  of 
the  indignity  to  which  we  had  been  submitted.  Pennybet, 
meanwhile,  continued  to  turn  his  handle  in  a  leisurely  fashion 
and  touch  his  forehead  like  an  organ-grinder. 

Mr.  Caesar  looked  at  him  angrily  and  pathetically,  conscious 
of  his  powerlessness. 

"Que  f aites  vous,  Pennybet  ?    Asseyez  vous  toute  suite !" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Penny,  who  had  no  sympathy  with 
German,  French,  or  any  of  these  ludicrous  languages.  "Yes, 
sir,  we  had  two,  and  one  died." 

"Que  voulez  vous  dire  ?    AUez  a  votre  place !" 

"It's  all  right,  sir,  if  you  cross  your  fingers,"  suggested 
Penny. 

Poor  Mr.  Caesar  made  a  movement,  as  though  he  would  go 
and  push  the  mutineer  to  his  place. 

"You  will  go  to  your  seat  immediately,  Pennybet,"  he  or- 
dered. 

Penny  cocked  his  head  on  one  side.  "Oh,  sir/'  said  he 
reproachfully. 

Our  friend  always  expressed  his  sense  of  injustice  with  this 
sad  "Oh,  sir/'  and,  as  he  generally  detected  a  vein  of  injustice 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  4rl 

in  any  demand  made  upon  him,  the  expression  was  of  frequent 
occurrence. 

Mr.  Caesar  first  moved  his  lips  incompetently,  and  then,  with 
a  studied  slowness  that  was  meant  to  sound  imperious,  began : 

"When  I  say  'Sit' " 

*'You  mean  'Sit/  "  explained  Penny  promptly. 

'That's  impertinence." 

But  Penny  had  his  head  thrown  back,  and  was  gazing  out  of 
eyes,  curtained  by  the  fall  of  heavy-fringed  lids,  at  the  ceiling. 

"Pennybet,"  cried  his  master,  his  very  voice  apprehensive, 
*'will  you  have  the  goodness  to  attend  ?" 

"Oh,  ah,  yes,  sir,"  agreed  Penny,  awaking  from  his  reverie. 

"You  haven't  the  manners  of  a  savage,  boy." 

''Oh,  sir/' 

Mr.  Caesar  bit  his  lip,  and  his  silver  voice  would  scarcely 
come. 

"Or  of  a  pig!" 

"Would  a  pig  have  manners,  sir  ?"  corrected  Penny. 

"That's  consummate  impudence !" 

"Oh,  is  it,  sir  ?"  Penny's  tone  suggested  that  he  was  grateful 
for  the  enlightenment.  Henceforth  he  would  not  be  in  two 
minds  on  the  subject. 

Mr.  Caesar,  repulsed  again  by  the  more  powerful  character 
of  the  boy,  tried  to  cover  the  feebleness  of  his  position  by 
sounding  as  threatening  as  possible. 

"Go  to  your  seat  at  once!  The  impudence  of  this  class  is 
insufferable!" 

Loud  murmurs  of  dissent  from  twenty  boys  greeted  this 
aspersion.  The  class  resolved  itself  into  an  Opposition,  inspired 
by  one  object,  which  was  to  repudiate  aspersions.  Penny  ex- 
cellently voiced  their  resentment. 

"Oh,  sir/'    (Opposition  cheers.) 

Mr.  Caesar  hurled  his  chair  behind  him,  and  approached  very 
close  to  Penny. 

"Will  you  go  to  your  seat  at  once  ?" 

Penny,  with  all  his  power,  was  still  a  boy ;  and  for  a  moment 
the  child  in  him  flinched  before  the  exceedingly  close  approach 
of  Mr.  Caesar.  But  the  next  minute  he  looked  up  at  the  still  open 
window ;  shivered,  and  shuddered ;  rubbed  his  cold  hands  (this 
beautiful  summer  morning)  ;  buttoned  himself  up  warmly ; 


"42  Tell  England  book  i 

went  to  the  master's  desk  for  his  books ;  dropped  them  one  after 
another ;  blew  on  his  numbed  fingers  to  infuse  a  little  warmth 
into  them,  contriving  a  whistle,  and  all  the  time  booking  most 
rebukingly  at  his  tyrannical  master ;  picked  up  tour  books  and 
dropped  two  of  them ;  picked  up  those  and  dropped  one  more ; 
walked  to  his  seat  in  high  sorrow,  and  banged  the  whole  lot  of 
the  books  down  upon  the  desk  and  floor  in  an  appalling  cata- 
ract, as  the  full  cruelty  of  Mr.  Caesar's  treatment  came  suddenly 
home  to  him. 

When  we  recovered  from  this  shattering  explosion  of  Penny's 
books,  a  little  quiet  work  would  have  begun,  had  not  Doe,  with 
his  romantic  imagination  lit  by  the  glow  of  Penny's  audacity, 
started  to  crave  the  notoriety  of  being  likewise  a  leader  of  men. 
He  rose  from  his  desk,  approached  Mr.  Caesar,  and  extended 
his  hand  with  a  belated  "Good  morning,  sir." 

Poor  Mr.  Caesar,  in  the  kindliness  of  his  heart,  was  touched 
by  Doe's  graceful  action,  and  grasped  the  proffered  hand,  say- 
ing: "Good  morning.  Doe."  By  tihis  time  the  whole  class  was 
arranged  in  a  tolerably  straight  line  behind  Doe,  and  waiting  to 
go  through  the  ceremony  of  shaking  hands. 

Work  commenced  at  about  twenty  minutes  to  twelve,  and, 
when  twelve  should  come,  we  were  to  render,  according  to 
programme,  "God  Save  the  King,"  with  some  delicate  hum- 
ming. For  want  of  something  better  to  do,  I  wrote  a  clause  of 
the  exercise  set.  Mr.  Caesar's  back  was  now  turned  and  he  was 
studying  a  wall-map. 

"Shall  I?" 

"Yes,  rather!" 

These  two  whispered  sentences  I  heard  from  behind  me. 
Inquisitively  I  turned  round  to  see  what  simmered  there. 

"Keep  working,  you  fool !"  hissed  my  neighbour. 

Events  of  some  moment  were  happening  in  the  rear.  It  had 
occurred  to  several  that  the  hands  of  the  clock  might  be  encour- 
aged with  a  slight  push  to  hasten  their  journey  over  the  next 
few  minutes.  Doe,  half  anxious  to  be  the  daring  one  to  do  it, 
half  nervous  of  the  consequences,  had  whispered:  "Shall  I?" 
And  his  advisers  had  answered:  "Yes,  rather!"  He  threw 
down  a  piece  of  blotting  paper,  and  tip-toed  towards  it,  as 
though  to  pick  it  up.  Seeing  with  a  side-glance  that  Mr. 
Caesar's  back  was  still  turned,  he  mounted  a  form,  and  pushed 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  43 

on  the  clock's  hands.  Then,  hurriedly  getting  down,  he  flew 
back  nervously  to  his  seat,  where  he  pretended  to  be  rapidly 
writing. 

Hearing  these  sHthy  and  suggestive  movements,  I  declined  to 
remain  any  longer  ignorant  of  their  meaning.  After  all,  I  had 
suggested  the  *'whole  bally  business,'*  and  was  entitled  to  know 
the  means  selected  for  its  conduct.  So  round  went  my  inquisi- 
tive head.  Then  I  shook  in  my  glee.  Someone  had  pushed  on 
the  hands  of  the  clock,  and  it  was  three  minutes  to  twelve. 
There  was  a  rustle  of  excitement  in  the  room.  The  silence  of 
expectancy  followed.  "Two-minutes-to"  narrowed  into  "One- 
minute-to";  and  after  a  premonitory  cHck,  which  produced 
sufficient  excitement  to  interfere  with  our  breath,  the  clock 
struck  twelve. 

Inasmuch  as  I  occupied  a  very  favourable  position,  I  got  up 
to  conduct  proceedings.  I  faced  the  class,  stretched  out  my 
right  hand,  which  held  a  pen  by  way  of  a  baton,  and  whispered : 
''One.    Two.    Three/' 

It  began.  I  have  often  wondered  since  how  I  could  have 
been  so  wrong  in  my  calculations.  I  had  estimated  that,  if  we 
all  hummed,  there  would  result  a  gentle  murmur.  I  never 
dreamt  that  each  of  the  twenty  boys  would  respond  so  splen- 
didly to  my  appeal.  Instead  of  a  gentle  murmur,  the  National 
Hymn  was  opened  with  extraordinary  volume  and  spirit. 

My  first  instinct  was  the  low  one  of  self-preservation.  Feel- 
ing no  desire  to  play  a  leading  part  in  this  terrible  outbreak,  I 
hastily  sat  down  with  a  view  to  resuming  my  studies.  Un- 
fortunately I  sat  down  too  heavily,  and  there  was  the  noise  of  a 
bump,  which  served  to  bring  the  performance  to  an  effective 
conclusion.  My  books  clattered  to  the  floor,  and  Mr.  Caesar 
turned  on  me  with  a  cry  of  wrath. 

"Ray,  what  are  you  doing?" 

It  was  a  sudden  and  awkward  question ;  and,  for  a  second,  I 
was  at  a  loss  for  words  to  express  to  my  satisfaction  what  I 
was  doing.  Penny  seemed  disappointed  at  my  declension 
into  disgrace,  and  murmured  reproachfully:  "O  Rupert,  my 
little  Rupert,  st.  st/'  1  saw  that  the  game  was  up.  Mr.  Caesar 
had  inquired  what  I  was  doing;  and  a  survey  of  what  I  was 
doing  showed  me  that,  between  some  antecedent  movements 
and  some  subsequent  effects,  my  central  procedure  was  a  con- 


44  Tell  England  book  i 

ducting  of  the  class.  So,  very  red  but  trying  to  be  impudent,  I 
said  as  much,  after  first  turning  round  and  making  an  un- 
pleasant face  at  Penny. 

"Conducting,  sir,"  I  explained,  as  though  nothing  could  be 
more  natural  at  twelve  o'clock. 

"Conducting !"  said  Mr.  Csesar.  "Well,  you  may  be  able  to 
conduct  the  class,  but  you  certainly  cannot  conduct  yourself." 

This  resembling  a  joke,  the  class  expressed  its  appreciation  in 
a  prolonged  and  uproarious  laugh.  It  was  a  stupendous  laugh. 
It  had  fine  crescendo  and  diminuendo  passages,  and  only  died 
hard,  after  a  chain  of  intermittent  "Ha-ha's."  Then  it  had  a 
glorious  resurrection,  but  faded  at  last  into  the  distance,  a  few 
stray  "Ha-ha's"  from  Pennybet  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Mr.  Caesar  trembled  with  impotent  passion,  his  weak  eyes 
eloquent  with  anger  and  suffering. 

"Are  you  responsible  for  this  outrage,  Ray?" 

I  looked  down  and  muttered :    "It  was  my  suggestion,  sir." 

"Then  you  shall  suffer  for  it.  Who  has  tampered  with  the 
clock?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  every  boy  looked  at  the  remainder 
of  the  class  to  show  his  ignorance  of  the  whole  matter.  Doe 
glanced  from  one  to  another  for  instructions.  Some  by  facial 
movements  suggested  an  avowal  of  his  part,  but  he  whispered: 
"Not  yet,"  and  waited,  blushing. 

"Then  the  whole  class  shall  do  two  hours'  extra  work." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  Mr.  Csesar's  mouth,  before 
every  boy  was  protesting.  I  caught  above  the  confusion  such 
complaints  as :  "Oh,  sir !"  "But  really,  sir,"  or  a  more  sullen : 
"I  never  touched  the  beastly  clock !"  or  even  a  frank :  "I  won't 
do  it."  I  observed  that  Penny  was  taking  advantage  of  the 
noise  to  deliver  an  emotional  sermon,  which  he  accompanied 
with  passionate  gestures  and  concluded  by  turning  eastward 
and  profanely  repeating  the  ascription :  "And  now  to  God  the 
Father — -" 

A  sudden  silence,  and  every  boy  sits  awkwardly  in  his  place. 
Radley's  tall  figure  stood  in  the  room :  and  the  door  was  being 
shut  by  his  hand.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  him.  I  was  changed. 
I  no  longer  felt  disorderly  nor  impudent :  for  disorderliness  and 
impudence  in  me  were  but  unnatural  efforts  to  copy  Pennybet, 
that  master-fool.     I  dropped  into  my  natural  self,  a  thing  of 


PART  I        Rupert  Ray  Begins  His  Story  45 

shyness  and  diffidence.  I  was  not  conscious  of  any  ill-will 
towards  Radley  for  returning  to  his  class-room,  when  he  was 
not  expected ;  it  was  just  a  piece  of  bad  fortune  for  me.  I  was 
about  to  be  "whacked,"  I  knew ;  and,  though  I  did  not  move,  I 
felt  strange  emotions  within  me.  Certainly  I  was  a  little  afraid, 
for  Radley  whacked  harder  than  they  all. 

And  then,  as  usual,  my  brain  ran  down  a  wildly  irrelevant 
course.  I  reflected  that  the  height  of  my  ambition  would  be 
reached,  if  I  could  grow  into  as  tall  a  man  as  Radley.  My 
frame,  at  present,  gave  no  promise  of  developing  into  that  of 
a  very  tall  man;  but  henceforth  I  would  do  regular  physical 
exercises  of  a  stretching  character,  and  eschew  all  evils  that 
retarded  the  growth.  In  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new  aim, 
towards  which  I  would  start  this  very  day,  I  almost  forgot  my 
present  embarrassing  position.  Hasty  calculations  followed  as 
to  how  much  I  would  have  to  grow  each  year.  Let  me  see,  how 
old  was  I  ?    Just  thirteen.    How  many  years  to  grow  in  ? 

**Who  is  the  ringleader  of  this  ?"  asked  Radley. 

I  stood  up  and  whispered :  "Me,  sir." 

Somehow  a  ready  acknowledgment  seemed  to  agree  with  my 
latest  ambition. 

"Then  come  and  stand  out  here.  You  know  you  ought  to  be 
caned,  so  you'll  thoroughly  enjoy  it.  In  fact,  being  a  decent 
boy,  you'd  be  miserable  without  it." 

Here  Mr.  Caesar,  who  bore  no  grudge  against  Radley  for 
assuming  the  reins  of  command,  whispered  to  him;  and  Radley 
asked  the  class : 

"Who  touched  the  clock?" 

"I  did,  sir." 

It  was  Doe's  voice. 

"Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?" 

"I  was  just  going  to  when  you  came  in." 

Radley  looked  straight  into  the  brown  eyes  of  the  boy  who 
was  supposed  to  be  his  favourite,  and  Doe  looked  back  unshift- 
ingly ;  he  had  heard  those  condemned,  who  did  not  look  people 
straight  in  the  face,  and  I  fancy  he  rather  exaggerated  his 
steady  return  gaze. 

"I'm  sure  you  were,"  said  Radley. 

Then  the  foreman  of  the  other  boys  got  up. 

"Some  of  us  suggested  it  to  Doe,  sir." 


46  Tell  England  book  i 

"Very  well,  you  will  have  the  punishment  of  seeing  him  suffer 
for  it." 

And  thereupon,  without  waiting  to  be  told.  Doe  left  his  desk, 
and  came  and  stood  by  me.  It  was  a  theatrical  action,  such  as 
only  he  would  have  done,  and  our  master  concealed  his  surprise, 
if  he  felt  any,  by  an  impassive  face. 

"I  shall  now  cane  these  two  boys,"  he  said  with  cold-blooded 
directness. 

"Certainly,"  whispered  Penny. 

Both  corners  of  my  mouth  went  down  in  a  grim  resignation. 
Doe's  lips  pressed  themselves  firmly  together,  and  his  eyelids 
trembled.  Mr.  Csesar,  ever  generous,  looked  through  the  win- 
dow over  green  lawns  and  flower-beds.  Radley  went  to  his 
cupboard,  and  took  out  a  cane. 

"Bend  over,  Ray." 

"Certainly,"  muttered  Penny  again.    "Bend  over." 

I  bent  over,  resting  my  hands  on  my  knees.  Radley  was  a 
cricketer  with  a  big  reputation  for  cutting  and  driving;  and 
three  drives,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  cane,  convinced  me  what 
a  first-class  hitter  he  was.  At  the  fourth,  an  especially  resound- 
ing one,  Penny  whistled  a  soft  and  prolonged  whistle  of  amaze- 
ment, and  murmured:  "Well,  thafs  2l  boundary,  anyway." 
And  I  heard  suppressed  giggles,  and  knew  that  my  class-fellows 
were  enjoying  the  exquisite  agony  of  forcing  back  their 
laughter. 

When  my  performance  was  over,  the  second  victim,  Edgar 
Doe,  with 'the  steel  calm  of  a  French  aristocrat,  which  he 
affected  under  punishment,  walked  to  the  spot  where  I  had  been 
operated  on.  He  bent  over  (again  without  being  told  to  do  so), 
and  only  spoiled  his  proud  submission  by  telegraphing  to  Radley 
one  uncontrolled  look  of  pathetic  appeal  like  the  glance  of  a 
faithful  dog.  Radley,  not  noticing  these  unnerving  actions,  or 
possibly  a  little  annoyed  by  them,  administered  justice  severely 
enough  for  Doe,  proud  as  he  was,  to  wince  slightly  at  every  cut. 
Then  he  put  his  cane  away,  and  issued,  as  before,  his  little 
ration  of  gentleness. 

"You're  two  plucky  boys,"  he  said. 


PART  I        Rupert  Bay  Begins  His  Story  47 


§4 

That  night  I  measured  my  barefoot  height  against  the  dormi- 
tory wall,  and  made  a  deep  pencil-mark  thereon :  which  done,  I 
reached  up  to  a  great  height,  and  made  a  mark  to  represent 
Radley.  After  these  preliminaries  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  wait  developments.  One  practice  which  aided  growth  was  to 
lie  full-length  in  bed  instead  of  curled  up.  So,  after  I  had  cut 
with  nail-scissors  the  few  fair  hairs  from  my  breast  and  calves, 
in  an  endeavour  to  encourage  a  plentiful  crop  like  that  which 
added  manliness  to  Pennybet's  darker  form — after  this  delicate 
operation,  I  got  between  the  sheets,  and  straightened  out  my 
limbs  with  a  considerable  effort  of  the  will.  Later  on  I  forced 
them  down  again,  when  I  found  that  my  knees  had  once  more 
strayed  up  to  my  chin. 

Our  dormitory  at  Bramhall  House  was  a  long  many- 
windowed  room,  containing  thirty  beds,  Edgar  Doe's  being  on 
my  left.  He  suddenly  made  reference  to  our  punishment  of  the 
morning. 

"I  wonder  why  he  gave  me  a  worse  dose  than  you." 

"Yes,  he  did  let  into  you,"  I  said  cheerfully. 

Doe  flushed,  and  continued  talking  so  as  to  be  heard  only 
by  me. 

"If  it  had  been  any  other  master,  I'd  have  been  mad  with  him. 
Fancy,  practically  two  whackings  in  a  morning;  one  on  the 
knuckles  and  one  on  the — and  the  other.  But  you  can't  hate 
Radley,  can  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  with  grave  doubts. 

There  was  a  pause.  But  a  desire  to  tell  confidences  had  been 
begotten  of  warm  bed  and  darkness,  and  my  friend  soon  pro- 
ceeded : 

"It's  funny,  Rupert,  but  I  like  talking  to  you  better  than  to 
any  of  the  other  chaps.  I  feel  I  can  tell  you  things  I  wouldn't 
tell  anybody  else.  Do  you  know,  I  really  think  I  like  Radley 
better  than  anyone  else  in  the  world.  I  simply  loved  being 
whacked  by  him." 

I  pulled  the  clothes  off  my  head  that  I  might  see  the  extraor- 
dinary creature  that  was  talking  to  me.  A  dim  light  always 
burned  near  our  beds,  and  by  it  I  was  able  to  see  that  Doe  was 


48  Tell  England  book  i 

very  red  and  clearly  wishing  he  had  not  made  his  last  remark. 
My  immediate  desire,  on  witnessing  his  discomfiture,  was  to 
put  him  at  his  ease  by  pretending  that  I  saw  nothing  unusual 
in  the  words.     So  I  quickly  evolved  a  very  casual  question. 

''What !    Better  than  your  father  and  mother  ?" 

**Well,  you  see — "  and  he  shifted  uneasily — "you  know  per- 
fectly well  that  my  father  and  mother  are  dead." 

"O  law !"  I  said. 

Awkwardly  the  conversation  dropped.  And,  as  I  lay  upon 
my  pillow,  down  went  my  brain  along  a  line  of  wandering 
thoughts.  Doe's  remark,  I  reflected,  was  like  that  of  a  school- 
girl who  adored  her  mistress.  Perhaps  Doe  was  a  girl.  After 
all,  I  had  no  certain  knowledge  that  he  wasn't  a  girl  with  his 
hair  cut  short.  I  pictured  him,  then,  with  his  hair,  paler  than 
straw,  reaching  down  beneath  his  shoulders,  and  with  his 
brown  eyes  and  parted  lips  wearing  a  feminine  appearance.  As 
I  produced  this  strange  figure,  I  began  to  feel,  somewhere  in 
the  region  of  my  waist,  motions  of  calf-love  for  the  girl  Doe 
that  I  had  created.  But,  as  Doe's  prowess  at  cricket  asserted 
itself  upon  my  mind,  his  gender  became  conclusively  estab- 
lished, and — ah,  well,  I  was  half  asleep. 

But,  so  strange  were  the  processes  of  my  childish  mind  that 
this  feeling  of  love  at  first  sight  for  the  girl  Doe,  who  never 
existed,  I  count  as  one  of  the  strongest  forces  that  helped  to 
create  my  later  affection  for  the  real  Edgar  Gray  Doe. 

"I  think  you  and  I  must  have  been  intended  to  come  to- 
gether, Rupert,"  I  heard  him  saying,  later  on,  as  I  was  fast 
dozing  off.    "I  s'pose  that's  why  we  were  called  Doe  and  Ray." 

''Er,"  I  dreamily  assented  from  beneath  the  bedclothes. 

And  still  later  a  voice  said: 

"It  was  rather  fun  being  whacked  side  by  side,  being  twins." 

From  a  great  distance  I  heard  it,  as  I  listened  upon  the 
frontier  of  sleep.  And,  recalling  without  any  effort  Radley's 
words :  "There's  nothing  like  suffering  together  to  cement  a 
friendship,"  I  crossed  the  frontier.  All  coiled  up  again,  my 
knees  nearly  touching  my  chin,  I  passed  into  the  country  of 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  II 

KUPERT  OPENS  A  GREAT  WAR 

POOR  Mr.  Caesar,  with  the  weak  eyes!  He  had  left  his 
class-room  door  unlocked.  Golly,  so  he  had !  And  since 
the  bell  had  only  just  ceased  to  echo,  and  Mr.  Caesar  would 
certainly  be  some  minutes  late,  what  was  to  stop  us  from  con- 
ducting a  few  operations  within  the  class-room?  Under  the 
command  of  Pennybet,  we  entered  the  room  and  with  due 
respect  Ufted  the  master's  large  writing-desk  from  its  Httle 
platform,  and  carried  it  to  the  further  end  of  the  room.  We 
left  him  his  armchair,  decently  disposed  upon  the  platform, 
thinking  it  would  be  ungenerous  to  keep  him  standing  through 
an  hour's  lesson. 

Then  we  guiltily  stole  out  of  the  class-room,  closed  the  door, 
and  Hned  up  in  the  corridor,  as  smartly  as  a  squad  of  regulars. 
Aided  by  Penny's  hand,  we  right-dressed.  We  kept  our  eyes 
front,  heads  erect,  and  heels  together.  We  braced  ourselves 
up  still  better  when  Mr.  Caesar  appeared  at  the  end  of  the 
corridor.  None  of  us  spoke  nor  moved.  A  few  fools  like 
myself  giggled  nasally,  and  were  promptly  subdued:  "Don't 
spoil  it  all,  you  stinking  fish !" 

On  came  the  gallant  Mr.  Caesar,  his  eyes  mutely  inquiring 
the  reason  for  this  ominous  quiet.  He  reached  the  door  with 
no  sign  from  any  of  us  that  we  were  aware  of  a  new  arrival. 
He  tried  the  lock  with  his  key  and,  after  an  expression  of 
surprise  to  find  it  already  turned,  opened  the  door  and  walked 
in.  Immediately,  in  accordance  with  a  pre-arranged  code  of 
signals.  Penny  dropped  one  book.  We  right-turned.  We  did 
it  in  faultless  time,  turning  as  one  man,  and  each  of  us  bringing 
his  left  foot  with  a  brisk  stamp  on  the  floor.  Then,  a  suitable 
silence  having  ensued,  Penny  dropped  two  books.     Instantly 

49 


50  Tell  England  book  i 

we  obeyed.  In  single  file,  our  left  feet  stamping  rhythmically, 
with  heads  erect  and  eyes  front,  we  marched  after  Mr.  Caesar, 
and  gradually  diverged  from  one  another  till  each  man  stood 
marking  time  at  his  particular  desk.  At  this  point  Penny 
tripped  over  his  left  heel,  and  in  an  unfortunate  accident 
flung  all  his  books  on  to  the  floor.  Abruptly,  and  like  machines, 
we  sat  down.     The  room  shook. 

It  was  difficult  for  our  master  to  know  what  to  do ;  as  there 
was  no  real  reason  to  associate  our  military  movements  with 
Penny's  series  of  little  accidents,  and  there  was  certainly  no 
fault  to  find  with  our  orderly  entry  into  the  class-room.  So  he 
did  nothing  beyond  sadly  sweeping  us  with  his  eyes.  And  then 
he  inquired : 

'Where's  my  desk?" 

Goodness  gracious,  where  could  his  great  desk  be?  We  got 
out  of  our  seats,  foreseeing  a  long  search.  We  began  by  open- 
ing our  own  desks  and  looking  inside.  Certain  high  lockers 
that  stood  against  the  wall  we  opened.  It  was  in  none  of  them. 
We  pulled  ourselves  up  and  looked  along  the  top  of  these 
lockers.  It  was  not  there.  Penny  did  three  or  four  of  these 
^'pull-ups"  by  way  of  extending  his  biceps.  We  looked  along 
the  walls  and  under  the  forms.  Penny  created  a  little  excite- 
ment by  declaring  that  "he  thought  he  saw  it  then."  And  Doe 
opened  the  door  and  looked  up  and  down  the  corridor. 

"It's  not  anywhere  in  the  corridor,"  said  he.  The  whole 
class  felt  he  might  be  mistaken,  and  went  to  the  door  to  satisfy 
themselves. 

Mr.  Caesar  affected  a  little  sarcasm. 

"Is  not  that  it  at  the  other  end  of  the  room?" 

We  turned  round  and  gazed  down  the  direction  in  which  he 
was  looking.  Yes,  there  was  surely  something  there.  Penny 
flung  up  his  hand  and  cried : 

"Please,  teacher,  Fve  found  it." 

"Well,"  began  Mr.  Caesar,  "if  one  or  two  of  you  would  bring 
the  desk  up  here " 

If  one  or  two  of  us  would !  Why,  we  all  would — all  twenty 
of  us.  We  took  off  our  coats  and,  folding  them  carefully,  laid 
them  on  the  desks.  We  rolled  up  our  shirt-sleeves  above  the 
elbows,  disclosing  a  lot  of  white,  childish  forearms.  We  spat 
on  our  hands  and  rubbed  them  together.    We  did  a  little  spit- 


PART  I  Rupert  Opens  a  Great  War  61 

ting  on  one  another's  hands.  Then  we  hustled  and  crowded 
round  the  desk.  We  lifted  it  off  the  ground,  brought  it  a  foot 
or  two,  and  dropped  it  heavily.  Phew !  it  was  hard  work.  We 
took  out  our  handkerchiefs,  and  wiped  the  sweat  from  our 
brows.  Anyone  who  had  no  handkerchief  borrowed  from 
someone  who  had  finished  with  his.  Returning  to  our  task, 
we  carried  the  desk  a  little  nearer  and  dropped  it.  Doe  got  a 
serious  splinter  in  his  hand,  and  we  all  pulled  it  out  for  him. 
Puffing  and  groaning  as  we  dragged  the  unwieldy  desk,  we 
approached  the  dais  on  which  it  must  be  placed.  We  all 
stepped  upon  the  dais  (slightly  incommoding  Mr.  Caesar,  who 
was  standing  there),  and  lifted  up  one  end  of  the  desk  so  that 
the  pens  and  pencils  rattled  inside.  One  pull,  my  lads,  and  the 
desk  was  half  on  the  platform  and  half  on  the  floor.  Leaving 
it  in  this  inclined  position,  we  stepped  down  to  the  floor  again, 
and  three  of  us  placed  our  shoulders  against  the  lower  end, 
while  the  rest  scrummed  down,  Rugby  fashion,  in  row  upon 
row  behind  one  another.  A  good  co-operative  shove,  accom- 
panied by  murmurs  of  "Coming  on  your  right,  forwards ;  heel  it 
out,  whites;  break  away,  forwards!"  and  up  she  went,  a 
diagonal  route  into  the  air.  Unfortunately,  we  all  raised  our 
heads  at  the  same  time  to  see  how  much  further  she  had  to  go, 
and  back  she  tobogganed  again  on  to  the  shins  of  the  boys  in 
the  front  row.  They  declared  they  were  henceforth  incapaci- 
tated for  life. 

We  got  it  on  to  the  platform  at  last  with  a  good  run,  but 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  back  row  of  scrummers,  who  apparently 
thought  the  task  could  not  be  completed  till  they  were  off  the 
floor  and  on  the  platform,  was  so  strong  that  the  desk  was 
pushed  much  too  far,  and  toppled  over  the  further  side  of  the 
platform. 

This  was  too  much.  My  suppressed  giggling  burst  like  a 
grenade  into  uncontrolled  laughter.  Then  I  said :  "Fm  sorry, 
sir." 

§2 

But  this  disorder  is  a  strong  dish,  and  we've  talked  about 
quite  as  much  as  is  good  for  us.  So  let  us  change  the  hour  and 
visit  another  class-room,  where  there  are  no  rebellions,  but 


52  Tell  England  book  i 

nevertheless  arithmetic  and  trouble — and  Ray  and  Doe  and 
Pennybet.  And  here  is  a  dear  little  master  in  charge.  It  is 
Mr.  Fillet,  the  housemaster  of  Bramhall  House,  where,  as  you 
know,  we  were  paying  guests — a  fat  little  man  with  a  bald  pate, 
a  soft  red  face,  a  pretty  little  chestnut  beard,  and  an  ugly  little 
stutter  in  his  speech.  Bless  him,  the  dear  little  man,  we  called 
him  Carpet  Slippers.  This  was  because  one  of  his  two  chief 
attributes  was  to  be  always  in  carpet  slippers.  The  other 
attribute  was  to  be  always  round  a  corner. 

Fillet,  or  Carpet  Slippers,  disliked  his  young  boarder,  Rupert 
Ray.  The  reason  is  soon  told.  One  night,  when  I  was  out  of 
my  bed  and  gambolling  in  pyjamas  about  the  first  story  of  his 
house,  I  looked  up  the  well  of  the  staircase  and  saw  the  little 
shadow  of  someone  parading  the  landing  above.  Thinking  it  to 
be  a  boy,  I  called  out  in  a  stage-whisper :  "Is  that  old  pig, 
Carpet  Slippers,  up  there?"  And  a  dear  little  chestnut  beard 
and  a  smile  came  over  the  balusters,  accompanied  by  a  voice : 
"Yes,  h-h-here  he  is.    Wh-what  do  you  want  with  him?'' 

It  was  Fillet,  in  carpet  slippers,  and  round  a  corner. 

And  then  in  his  class-room,  this  day,  I  got  a  sum  wrong.  I 
deduced  that  in  a  certain  battle  "point  64''  of  a  soldier  remained 
wounded  on  the  field,  while  "point  36"  escaped  with  the  re- 
treating army  unhurt.  This  did  not  seem  a  satisfactory  con- 
clusion either  to  the  sum  or  to  the  soldier,  and  I  was  not 
surprised,  on  looking  up  the  answer,  to  find  that  I  was  wrong. 
There  were  two  methods  of  detecting  the  error:  one  was  to 
work  through  the  sum  again,  the  other  was  to  submit  it  to  Fillet 
for  revision.  The  latter  seemed  the  less  irksome  scheme,  and 
in  a  sinister  moment — heavens!  how  pregnant  with  conse- 
quences it  was — I  left  my  desk,  approached  Carpet  Slippers, 
and  laid  the  trouble  before  him. 

Now  Fillet  was  in  the  worst  of  tempers,  having  been  just 
incensed  by  a  boy  who  had  declared  that  two  gills  equalled  one 
pint,  two  pints  one  quart,  and  two  quarts  one  rod,  pole, -or 
perch.  So,  when  I  brought  my  sum  up  and  giggled  at  the 
answer,  he  looked  at  me  as  if  he  neither  liked  me  nor  desired 
that  I  should  ever  fike  him.  Then  he  indulged  in  cheap  sar- 
casms. This  he  was  wont  to  do,  and,  after  emitting  them 
through  his  silky  beard,  he  would  draw  in  his  breath  through 


PART  I         Rupert  Opens  a  Great  War  58 

parted  teeth,  as  a  child  does  when  it  has  the  taste  of  pepper- 
mint in  its  mouth. 

"I-I-I  t-tell  you,  a  boy  in  a  kindergarten  could  get  it  right — a 
g-g-guttersnipe  could.     I-I-I-I " 

This  was  so  much  like  what  they  yell  from  a  fire-engine  that, 
though  I  struggled  hard,  I  could  not  contain  a  giggle. 

"M-ril  do  it  for  you." 

He  got  it  wrong,  which  elicited  a  bursting  giggle  from  me. 
Fillet  turned  on  me  like  a  barking  dog. 

"Go  to  your  place,  boy,  and  take  your  vulgar  guffaws  with 
youT' 

Surprised  at  Fillers  taking  it  to  heart  in  this  way,  I  went, 
much  abashed,  to  my  seat,  and  tried  to  control  my  fit  of  gig- 
gling. But  it  so  possessed  me  that  finally  it  made  a  very 
horrible  noise  in  my  nose.  Carpet  Slippers  raised  his  little 
head  that  was  a  hybrid  between  a  peach  and  a  billiard  ball — a 
peach  as  to  the  face,  and  a  billiard  ball  as  to  the  cranium — and 
when  he  saw  me  sitting  with  lips  tightly  set  and  my  desk 
trembling  with  my  internal  laughter,  anger  put  a  fresh  coating 
of  red  upon  both  peach  and  ball.  But  he  took  no  action  at 
present. 

"I-Fll  d-do  one  of  these  sums  on  the  board  for  you.'' 

Getting  up,  he  turned  his  back  on  us  and,  facing  the  board, 
wrote  with  his  chalk  the  number  lo.  Now,  as  he  wrote  on  a 
level  with  his  eyes,  his  fat  little  head  quite  eclipsed  his  writing. 
So,  simply  to  show  that  I  was  no  longer  laughing,  I  called  out 
loudly : 

"What number,  sir?" 

Round  swung  Carpet  Slippers,  his  peach-face  assuming  the 
tint  of  a  tomato. 

"What  number  ?  I-FU  t-teach  you  to  ask  'what  number'  when 
Fve  written  *io'  on  the  board.  I-Fve  heard  what  you  do  in 
other  class-rooms.  D-don't  think  you're  going  to  introduce 
your  hooliganism  here.  Go  and  ask  the  p-porter  to  let  me  have 
a  cane." 

The  boys  pricked  up  their  ears  and  looked  at  me.  Penny  let 
his  jaw  drop  in  amazement  and,  leaving  his  mouth  open,  main- 
tained an  expression  like  that  of  the  village  idiot.  I  stared, 
flabbergasted,  into  Carpet  Slippers'  face. 


54  Tell  England  book  i 

"But,  sir "  I  ventured.    Tears  and  temper  began  to  rise 

in  me. 

*'D-don't  argue.    Do  what  you're  told." 

"But,   sir ''     And  then,  like  a  cloud,  sullen  obstinacy 

came  down  upon  me.  I  was  certain  that  he  had  been  longing 
for  an  excuse  to  flog  me.  The  pride  and  the  relish  of  the 
martyr  supported  me  as,  without  telling  him  that  his  head  had 
obstructed  my  view,  I  walked  out  to  do  my  message. 

Finding  the  porter  in  his  office,  I  politely  inquired  if  he  could 
spare  a  cane  for  Mr.  Fillet ;  and,  at  my  query,  he  grinned — the 
blithering  idiot.  The  cane  that  he  handed  me  I  took,  and,  being 
at  that  moment  a  youngster  who  wouldn't  have  let  his  spirits 
sink  for  all  the  Fillets  in  the  world,  I  offered  back  the  cane  and 
suggested : 

"I  say,  are  you  sure  you  couldn't  lose  this  ?" 

"Quite  sure,  sir.'' 

"Well,  look  here,  do  you  really  think  you  can  manage  to  part 
with  it?" 

"Quite  sure,  sir." 

"Well,  don't  you  think  that,  for  a  man  of  your  age,  you  look 
rather  a  fool  standing  up  there  and  saying  'Quite  sure'  to 
everything  that's  said  to  you  ?  Don't  you  think  it's  rather  a  fat 
and  silly  thing  to  do  ?" 

I  put  it  to  him  as  man  to  man. 

"Quite  sure,  sir,"  he  replied  with  a  laugh. 

"Go  to  blazes,"  I  said,  "and  take  your  vulgar  guffaws  with 
you." 

On  my  way  back  I  stayed  to  admire  the  classical  busts  and 
statues  that  lined  the  deserted  corridors  like  exhibits  in  a 
museum.  All  the  life-size  ones  I  whacked  with  my  cane.  I 
took  a  wistful  pleasure  in  giving  the  naked  ones  two  good 
strokes  each.  As  I  drew  near  the  class-room  door  I  certainly 
felt  uncomfortable,  for  I  knew  Fillet  intended  to  sting.  But 
my  sense  of  martyrdom  carried  me  through.  I  gathered  my 
dignity  about  me  and  knocked  heavily  on  the  door.  Annoyed 
that  my  hand  had  trembled  and  spoilt  the  effect,  I  opened  the 
door  briskly  and  shut  it  briskly.  With  a  calm  step  and  fearless 
look,  both  studied,  for  I  copied  Doe  in  these  matters,  I  walked 
towards  Carpet  Slippers.    The  little  man  was  pretending  he  had 


PART  I  Rupert  Opens  a  Ghreat  War  55 

forgotten  all  about  me,  while  really  he  had  prepared  a  sarcasm 
with  which  to  poison  my  wounds. 

"Oh,  indeed.  YouVe  b-been  a  long  time  gone ;  but  thrash- 
ings are4ike  good  wine — they  improve  with  keeping." 

He  sucked  in  his  breath  with  satisfaction. 

*'Yes,  sir,''  replied  I.  If  there  was  any  trembling  about  me  it 
was  inside  and  not  visible. 

He  took  the  cane  from  my  hand  and  examined  its  effective- 
ness. Then,  intending  a  pretty  little  jest,  he  faced  the  class  and 
commanded : 

"St-stand  out,  that  boy  who  asked  the  number  of  the  sum 
after  I  had  put  it  on  the  board." 

"Swine !"  hissed  somebody.    I  fancy  it  was  Edgar  Doe. 

"Fm  here,  sir,"  replied  I  from  his  side,  white. 

Pennybet,  who  all  this  time  had  kept  his  mouth  agape  and 
impersonated  the  village  idiot,  laid  down  his  pen,  closed  his 
book,  and  disposed  himself  to  watch  out  the  matter.  He  was 
always  callous  when  in  pursuit  of  his  object;  and  his  object 
now  was  to  suck  the  humour  out  of  my  painful  position.  He 
put  his  elbow  on  the  desk,  rested  his  head  at  a  graceful  angle 
on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  half  closed  his  Arab  eyes.  He 
looked  like  an  earnest  parson  posing  for  a  photograph. 

Our  engaging  little  master,  having  bent  me  over  and  ar- 
ranged me  for  punishment,  gave  me  ten  strokes  instead  of  the 
usual  six — the  number  of  the  sum  had  been  "ten." 

When  I  rose  from  my  bended  posture,  how  I  hated  Carpet 
Slippers,  and  was  happy  in  my  hate !  I  hated  the  silkiness  of 
his  chestnut  beard;  I  hated  the  sheen  of  his  pink  cranium;  I 
hated  his  soft  rotundity  and  his  little  curvilinear  features;  I 
hated,  above  all,  his  poisonous  speeches.  As  I  walked  to  my 
seat,  my  body  stinging  still,  I  resolved  to  go  to  war  with  Fillet. 
I  declared  with  all  a  child's  power  of  make-believe  that  a  state 
of  war  existed  between  Rupert  Ray  and  Carpet  Slippers,  War, 
then,  war,  open  or  understood ! 

And  when  that  class  closed,  no  boy  was  more  forcedly  loud 
and  lively  than  I :  no  boy  shut  his  books  with  greater  claps ;  no 
boy  banged  his  desk  more  carelessly.  Nor  would  I  listen  to 
sympathising  friends,  but  laughed  out  in  Fillet's  hearing: 
"You  don't  think  I  care,  do  you  ?" 

Fillet  noticed  my  ostentatious  display  of  indifference  and 


56  Tell  England  book  i 

perhaps  felt  apprehensive  of  the  latent  devil  that  he  had 
aroused,  but  his  inward  comment,  I  doubt  not,  was:  "We'll 
see  who's  going  to  be  master  here.  He  can  feel  the  weight  of 
my  hand  again,  if  he  likes.  We  can't  let  a  bad-spirited  little 
boy  have  all  his  own  way.  I  think  we'll  break  his  defiance.  I 
think  we  will."  And  possibly,  as  he  said  it,  he  sucked  in  his 
breath  with  satisfaction.  Fillet  realised  that  it  was  War  and 
the  first  shots  had  been  exchanged. 


§3 

This  was  the  preliminary  skirmish.  Real  and  bloody  battle 
was  joined  twenty-four  hours  later.  But,  in  the  meantime, 
there  was  an  early-evening  lull  which  enclosed  a  delightful 
cricket  match.  A  team  of  junior  Kensingtonians,  that  included 
Doe  and  myself,  was  going  across  Kensingtowe  High  Road  to 
play  the  First  Eleven  of  the  Preparatory  School,  an  academy 
flippantly  known  as  the  "Nursery,"  its  boys  being  "Suckers." 
Edgar  Doe  had  been  a  certain  choice.  Brought  up  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  cricketing  family,  the  Grays  of  Surrey  tradi- 
tion, in  his  beautiful  Falmouth  home  which  boasted  cricket 
pitches  of  its  own,  he  was  as  polished  a  bat  as  the  Nursery 
had  ever  known.  I  came  to  be  selected  as  a  promising  change- 
bowler. 

We  were  walking  in  our  flannels  towards  the  Nursery  gates, 
when  Doe,  referring  with  bad  taste  tp  the  Fillet  incident  just 
closed,  began  to  chastise  me  with  his  cricket  bat.  I  returned 
the  treatment  with  a  pair  of  pads.  So  we  went  along,  full  in 
the  public  view,  each  trying  to  "get  in  a  good  one"  on  the 
other.  I  managed  to  knock  Doe's  bat  out  of  his  hand,  and,  as 
he  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  he  received  my  pads  upon  his  person. 
This  was  actually  in  the  middle  of  the  High  Street.  He 
laughed  loudly,  and  crying  "O  you  young  beast!"  started  to 
belabour  me  with  his  fists.  Suddenly  we  stopped,  let  our  hands 
fall  to  our  sides,  and  began  to  walk  like  nuns  in  a  cloister. 
Radley  had  joined  us. 

"H  you're  so  anxious  to  whack  each  other,"  said  he  pleas- 
antly, "won't  you  commission  me  to  do  it  in  both  cases?" 

We  grinned  sheepishly  and  said  nothing.    My  mind  formu- 


PART  I  Rupert  Opens  a  Great  War  57 

lated  the  sentence  "Good  Lord,  no !"  and,  quickly  constructing 
what  would  have  happened  had  I  uttered  it  aloud,  I  tittered 
uncomfortably  and  looked  away.  There  was  an  awkward 
pause  as  we  walked  along  with  our  master  between  us. 

**Well,  Ray,"  he  said,  endeavouring  to  put  us  at  our  ease, 
"are  you  a  great  batsman?'' 

"No,  sir,"  replied  I.    "Doe  is." 

"So  Fve  heard.    Fm  coming  to  see  what  he's  made  of." 

Doe  could  find  nothing  to  say  in  reply,  but  lifted  up  his  face 
and  looked  at  Radley  with  the  gratitude  of  a  dog.  For  my 
part  I  felt  a  pleasing,  squirmy  excitement  to  think  that  we  were 
to  walk  on  to  the  Nursery  field  in  the  company  of  the  great 
Middlesex  amateur;  and,  incidentally,  I  took  the  opportunity 
of  measuring  myself  against  him. 

We  arrived  on  the  ground,  creating  less  sensation  than  I 
would  have  liked.  Radley  took  a  deck-chair  in  front  of  the 
pavilion  next  to  Dr.  Chapman,  or  "Chappy,"  surely  the  stoutest 
and  jolHest  of  school  doctors.  The  fact  that  Chappy,  occupy- 
ing so  withdrawn  a  position  as  medical  officer  to  the  two 
schools,  should  have  been  such  a  memorable  figure  in  the  life 
of  the  boys  testifies  to  the  largeness  of  his  personality.  And, 
not  being  the  most  modest  of  stout  and  hearty  doctors,  he  was 
always  willing  himself  to  testify  to  the  largeness  of  his  per- 
sonality. He  dearly  loved  cricket,  he  would  tell  you,  for  he 
had  been  a  cricketer  himself  and  seen  many  worse;  and  he 
dearly  loved  boys,  for  he  had  been  a  boy  himself  and  never 
seen  any  worse:  so,  where  there  was  a  boys*  cricket  match, 
there,  old  man,  you  would  find  Dr.  Chapman.  Besides,  when 
boys  played  cricket,  it  was  well  to  have  a  doctor  on  the  field, 
and  he  was  a  doctor  and  had  never  met  a  better.  Would  you 
have  a  cigar  ?  All  tobacco,  in  his  opinion,  led  to  the  overthrow 
of  body  and  soul — believe  him,  it  did — but  you  would  never  see 
him  without  a  cigar.    Not  he ! 

Such  was  Chappy,  the  medicine  man.  He  was  right  about 
the  cigar.  As  I  figure  him  in  my  mind,  the  things  that  I  imme- 
diately associate  with  his  stout,  jolly  presence  are  a  chewed 
cigar  drooping  from  his  mouth  and  a  huge  white  waistcoat 
soiled  by  the  tumbled  ash.  I  sum  him  up  as  a  genial  soul  whose 
religion  was  to  seek  comfort,  to  find  popularity  a  comfortable 
thing,  and  to  love  popularity  among  young  things  as  the  most 


58  Tell  England  book  i 

comfortable  of  all.  And,  if  that  last  dogma  of  his  be  not 
Heaven's  truth,  then  my  outlook  on  life  is  all  wrong,  and  this 
book's  a  failure ! 

As  Radley  placed  his  muscular  frame  in  the  deck-chair. 
Chappy  greeted  him  with  these  regrettable  remarks:  "Hallo, 
Radley,  aren't  you  dead  yet?  How  the  devil  are  you?  My 
word,  how  you've  grown  V 

The  match  started.  Doe  and  our  captain  opening  the  Kenn 
singtowe  innings.  I  left  the  other  boys  and  lay  down  upon  the 
grass  a  little  behind  Radley's  chair.  Converging  reasons  led 
me  there:  one — I  desired  that  my  old  friends,  the  Suckers, 
should  know  of  my  intimacy  with  S.  T.  Radley,  of  Middlesex ; 
two — I  felt  Chappy's  conversation  would  certainly  be  enter- 
taining ;  and  three — I  should  soon  have  to  go  in  to  bat,  and  was 
feeling  too  nervous  to  talk  to  offensively  happy  boys  who  were 
unworried  by  such  imminent  publicity. 

"So  they've  sent  us  a  cricketer  in  young  Doe,"  Radley  was 
saying  to  Dr.  Chapman. 

Chappy  turned  in  his  chair,  which  creaked  alarmingly,  and 
composed  himself  to  talk  comfortably. 

"Oh,  the  Gray  Doe — yes,  charming  little  squirt — best  bat  the 
Nursery  had  last  year.  And,  though  nobody  but  myself  recog- 
nised it,  the  Gem  was  the  best  bowler." 

"The  Gem?"  queried  Radley.    "Who  was  the  'Gem'?" 

"Don't  you  know  the  Gem  ?  Why,  Ray,  the  little  snipe  with 
eyes  something  between  a  diamond  and  a  turquoise.  The  ladies 
here  called  him  *The  Gem'  because  of  this  affliction.  He'd  be  a 
great  bowler,  only  he's  too  shy." 

At  this  point  I  rolled  on  to  my  stomach  so  as  to  appear 
unaware  of  their  conversation,  which  was  even  more  enter- 
taining than  I  had  hoped.  Radley  turned  round  and,  having 
seen  me,  said  something  in  an  undertone  to  Chappy.  I  imagine 
he  drew  attention  to  my  proximity,  for  Chappy  laughed  out: 
"O  law !    Glory  be !"  and  continued  in  a  lower  voice. 

My  sense  of  honour  was  not  so  nice  that  it  prevented  me 
from  trying  to  catch  the  rest  of  their  conversation.  They  had 
opened  so  promisingly:  and  now  Chappy  was  getting  quite 
enthusiastic,  and  the  rapid  motion  of  his  lips  was  causing  tht- 
cigar  to  be  so  restless  that  it  constantly  changed  its  position  and 
scattered  ash  down  his  expanse  of  white  waistcoat.     I  had  no 


PART  I  Rupert  Opens  a  Great  War  59 

need,  however,  to  strain  my  ears,  for  Chappy  was  incapable  of 
speaking  softly  for  any  length  of  time.  I  caught  him  pro- 
ceeding : 

**He's  clever,  his  masters  say,  and  got  a  big  future.  Hand- 
some little  rogue,  too.  He's  none  of  your  ordinary  boys. 
He's  a  twig  from  the  cedar-top." 

For  two  reasons — first,  that  this  was  a  fine  rhetorical  flourish 
on  which  to  close ;  and  secondly,  that  his  breath  was  giving  out 
— Chappy  concluded  his  remarks,  swept  his  waistcoat,  and  re- 
arranged his  position  in  the  deck-chair.  I  was  feeling  horribly 
anxious  lest  I  should  die  without  knowing  whether  it  was  of 
Doe  or  of  me  that  he  had  spoken,  when  Radley  cleared  up  the 
matter  by  saying : 

"He's  playing  a  straight  bat,  isn't  he  ?" 

So  it  was  Doe.  Well,  he  was  clever,  I  supposed,  but  not  as 
clever  as  all  that. 

"Straight  bat,  rather!"  agreed  Chappy. 

"Does  he  play  a  straight  bat  in  all  things  ?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  what  the  la-diddly-um  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  he  seems  to  be  a  bit  of  an  actor — to  do  things  because 
he  wants  to  appear  in  a  favourable  light." 

"I  say,  that's  doocid  ungenerous  of  you,"  said  Chappy. 
"And,  by  jove,  if  he  likes  to  imagine  himself  very  noble  and 
heroic,  and  tries  to  act  accordingly,  very  fine  of  him." 

"Very,"  endorsed  Radley,  cryptically. 

"I've  a  great  liking  for  him." 

"So  have  I." 

"Good.  Now,  what  first  attracted  you — his  good  looks  or  his 
virtues  ?" 

"Neither.     His  vices." 

"Here,  hang  me,  Radley,"  said  Chappy,  "you  want  exam- 
ining. You're  not  only  a  shocking  bad  conversationalist,  but 
also  a  little  mad.  That's  your  doctor's  opinion;  that'll  be  a 
guinea,  please." 

After  this  I  ceased  to  listen.  The  talk  was  all  about  Doe,  and 
rather  silly.  And  I  wanted  to  think  over  the  little  fact,  which 
Chappy  had  let  fall,  that  certain  ladies  called  me  the  "Gem." 
I  chewed  a  blade  of  grass  and  ruminated.  That  flattering  little 
disclosure  balanced  the  weight  of  Fillet's  dislike.  I  wished  it 
could  be  brought  to  his  knowledge ;  and  I  imagined  conversa- 


60  Tell  England  book  i 

tions  in  which  he  was  told.  This  was  the  first  time  that  it 
dawned  upon  me  that  there  was  anything  in  my  looks  to 
admire.  Pennybet  I  conceived  to  be  dark  and  handsome,  Doe 
fair  and  pretty,  and  myself  drab  and  plain.  But  now  I  got  up 
and  took  myself,  completely  thrilled,  to  a  mirror  in  the  chang- 
ing room  to  have  a  look  at  these  same  eyes.  I  was  prepared 
for  something  good.  The  result  was  that  I  became  almost 
sick  with  disappointment.  A  close  examination  showed  them 
to  be  quite  commonplace.  I  could  not  really  detect  that  they 
were  blue.  I  even  thought  they  looked  a  little  foolish.  And, 
as  I  gazed  at  them,  they  certainly  turned  very  sad. 

I  strolled  back  to  the  pavilion  just  as  a  burst  of  applause 
announced  a  fine  drive  by  Doe. 

"Oh,  pretty  stroke!"  shouted  Chappy,  sprinkling  quantities 
of  ash.    *Tretty  play !    By  jove,  the  little  fool's  a  genius !" 

"He  may  be  a  genius  of  some  other  sort,"  said  Radley,  "but 
he's  not  a  genius  at  cricket.  Look  at  his  diffidence  in  the  treat- 
ment of  swift  balls.  He's  a  cricketer  made,  not  born.  He  has 
imagination  and  a  sense  of  artistic  effect,  and  a  natural  grace 
— ^that's  all.  They'll  make  him  a  poet,  perhaps,  but  not  a 
cricketer." 

"Don't  talk  such  flapdoodle !"  grumbled  Chappy.  "Look  at 
that!" 

All  that  Doe  did  then  was  to  direct  the  ball  with  perfect  ease 
between  Point  and  Short  Slip  and  to  glance  quickly  towards 
the  pavilion  to  see  if  the  stroke  had  been  noticed.  The  sight  of 
him  batting  there  made  me  feel  another  squirmy  sensation  at 
the  thought  that  he  was  my  especial  friend.  He  had  given,  I 
recall,  his  grey  hat  to  the  umpire  to  hold,  and  the  wind  was 
playing  with  his  hair.  His  shirt-sleeves  were  rolled  up,  show- 
ing arms  smooth  and  round  like  a  woman's. 

Just  then,  however,  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  new 
arrival.  The  boy  Freedham,  having  listlessly  wandered  across 
from  Kensingtowe,  slouched  on  to  the  Nursery  playground. 
He  was  a  tall,  weedy  youth  of  sixteen ;  and  the  unhealthiness 
of  his  growth  was  shown  by  the  long,  graceless  neck,  the  spare 
chest,  and  the  thin  wrists.  There  was  a  weakness,  too,  at  his 
knees  which  caused  me  to  think  that  they  had  once  worked  on 
springs  which  now  were  broken.    But  the  greatest  abnormality 


PART  I  Rupert  Opens  a  Great  War  61 

was  seen  in  his  eyes.  Startlingly  large,  startlingly  bright,  they 
were  sometimes  beautiful  and  always  uncanny. 

This  Freedham,  with  his  slack  gait  and  carriage,  strolled 
towards  a  railing  and,  resting  both  elbows  on  it,  watched  Doe 
at  his  cricket.  The  whole  picture  is  very  clear  on  my  mind. 
A  sunny  afternoon  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  time  and  only 
just  made  up  its  mind  to  merge  into  a  mellow  evening:  the 
boys,  watching  the  game,  were  sending  their  young  and  lively 
sounds  upon  the  air;  those  of  the  smaller  cattle,  whose 
interest  had  waned,  were  engaging  with  the  worst  taste  in 
noisy  French  cricket:  the  flannelled  figures  of  the  players, 
with  their  wide  little  chests,  neat  waists,  and  round  hips,  prom- 
ised fine  things  for  the  manhood  of  England  ten  years  on:  at 
the  wicket  stood  the  attractive  figure  of  Edgar  Doe  in  an 
occupation  very  congenial  to  him — that  of  shining :  and  Chappy 
had  just  said:  "I  say,  Radley,  don't  you  think  this  generation 
of  boys  is  the  most  shapely  lot  England  has  turned  out?  I 
wonder  what  use  she'll  make  of  them,"  when  he  saw  Freed- 
ham's  entry  and  opened  a  new  conversation. 

"That's  old  Freedham's  boy  over  there,  isn't  it?"  he  asked. 
''Shocking  specimen." 

"Yes,  he's  a  day-boy.    You  know  his  father,  the  doctor?" 

"Doctor  be  damned!"  answered  Chappy.  "He's  no  more 
a  doctor  than  a  Quaker's  a  Christian.  Old  Freedham's  surgery 
is  a  bally  schism-shop.  He's  one  of  those  homoeopathic  John- 
nies, and  would  be  blackballed  on  societies  of  which  I'm  a  vice- 
president.  You  know — just  as  I  can  never  go  into  dissenting 
chapels  without  feeling  certain  of  the  presence  of  evil  spirits — 
my  wife  says  it's  the  stuffiness  of  the  atmosphere,  but  I  say: 
'No,  my  dear,  it's  evil  spirits;  I  know  what's  evil  spirits  and 
what's  bad  air' — well,  just  so  I  could  never  go  into  old  Freed- 
ham's— but  I'm  not  likely  to  be  asked.    Doctor — bah !" 

And  Chappy  flung  away  the  moist  and  masticated  end  of  his 
cigar  and  all  such  nonsensical  ideas  with  it.  Then  he  took  a 
new  cigar  from  his  case,  proceeding : 

"And  the  man's  not  only  a  nonconformist  in  the  Medicine 
Creed,  but  he's  actually  a  deacon  in  a  Presbyterian  chapel — or 
something  equally  heathen — and  a  fluent  one  at  that,  I  expect. 
I  make  a  point  of  never  trusting  those  people.  Look  at  his 
sickening  son  and  heir  yonder.    Did  you  ever  see  an  orthodox 


62  Tell  England  book  i 

doctor  produce  a  cockchafer  like  that?  That's  homoeopathy, 
that  is '' 

And  Chappy  flourished  his  new  cigar  towards  Freedham. 

Doe,  too,  had  seen  Freedham's  entry,  and  some  sign  of  recog- 
nition passed  between  them.  The  next  ball  came  swiftly  and 
threateningly  down  upon  the  leg  side,  and  Doe,  perhaps  with 
the  nervousness  consequent  upon  the  arrival  of  a  new  critfc 
before  whom  he  would  fain  do  well,  stepped  back.  A  shout 
went  up  as  it  was  seen  that  the  ball  had  taken  the  leg  bail. 
Doe  looked  flurried  at  this  sudden  dismissal  and  a  bit  upset. 
He  involuntarily  shot  a  glance  at  Freedham  and  after  some 
hesitation  left  the  .crease.  He  rather  dragged  his  bat  and 
drooped  his  head  as  he  walked  to  the  pavilion,  till,  realising  that 
this  might  be  construed  into  an  ungracious  acceptance  of  de- 
feat, he  brought  his  head  erect  and  swung  his  bat  with  a  care- 
less freedom. 

"Heavens!"  murmured  Radley.     "Isn't  he  self-conscious?" 

Chappy  didn't  hear.  He  was  taken  up  in  applauding  the 
stylish  innings  of  the  retiring  batsman,  and  swearing  he  would 
stand  the  boy  a  liquor. 

"Bravo,  Doe!"  he  shouted.  "Don't  think  you  can  play 
cricket,  'cos  you  can't.    So  there !" 

Doe  entered  blushing  and  stood  nervously  by  an  empty  chair 
near  Radley,  who  read  his  meaning  and  said:  "Sit  there,  if 
you  like." 

My  friend  put  the  chair  very  close  to  his  hero  and,  having 
sat  in  it,  began  to  remove  his  pads.  I  think  Radley  was  pleased 
with  this  action  and  liked  having  the  worshipping  youth  beside 
him.  The  fall  of  Doe's  wicket  had  brought  my  innings  nearer 
and  started  a  fresh  attack  of  stage-fright.  In  my  agitation 
movement  seemed  imperative.  So  I  came  and  reclined  on  the 
ground  by  Edgar,  intruding  myself  on  his  notice  by  asking : 

"That  beastly  tapeworm  Freedham  spoilt  your  game,  didn't 
he?" 

Edgar  heard  my  question,  and  his  lips  fumbled  with  a  reply. 
The  face  that  he  turned  upon  me  was  a  deep  plum-pink  from 
recent  running  anTl  surmounted  with  fair  hair  whose  dis- 
ordered ends  were  darkened  with  moisture. 

"No,"  he  said ;  "at  least,  I  don't  know  him.  But  what's  it  to 
do  with  you?" 


PART  I  Rupert  Opens  a  Great  War  63 

This  remark  was  sufficiently  discouraging  to  impel  me  on  to 
my  feet  and  to  send  me  to  districts  where  I  should  be  less 
unpopular.  I  conceived  the  idea  of  examining  Freedham  at 
nearer  range.  Perhaps  I  was  jealous  of  him.  Though  as  yet 
I  had  no  unordinary  love  for  Doe,  I  had  a  sense  of  proprietor- 
ship in  him  which  was  quickened  the  minute  it  was  disturbed. 
So  I  moored  myself  on  the  railing  about  three  yards  from 
Freedham.  This  could  easily  be  managed,  Freedham  being 
one  of  those  boys  who  were  always  alone.  For  a  little  I  pre- 
tended to  watch  the  game  and  then  stole  a  furtive,  sideways 
glance  at  his  lank  profile.  I  had  immediate  cause  to  wish  I  had 
done  nothing  of  the  sort,  for  he  turned  his  unholy  eyes  on 
mine  and  so  disconcerted  me  that  I  swung  my  face  back  upon 
the  cricket  field  and  affected  complete  indifference.  I  even 
hummed  a  little  ditty  to  show  that  if  any  mind  was  free  from 
the  designs  of  the  private  detective,  mine  was.  But  my  acting 
was  not  made  easier  by  the  certainty  that  Freedham's  eyes 
were  steadily  examining  my  burning  cheek.  And,  if  it  be 
possible  to  see  a  question  in  eyes  which  you  are  only  imagining, 
I  saw  in  Freedham's :  **What  the  blazes  do  you  want?''  After 
giving  him  time  to  forget  me,  I  turned  again  to  look  at  him. 
But  once  more  I  caught  his  weird  orbs  full  upon  mine,  and 
muttering.  **Oh,  dash!"  concentrated  my  attention  on  the 
cricket. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  heavy  wooden  rail  on  which  I  was 
leaning  began  to  vibrate  horribly.  I  looked  in  alarm  at  Freed- 
ham. He  was  standing  rigid,  as  though  sudden  death  had 
stiffened  him  upright.  His  left  hand  was  grasping  the  railing, 
and  through  this  channel  an  electric  trembling  of  his  whole 
frame  had  communicated  itself  to  the  wood.  His  face  was 
unnaturally  red,  and  his  right  hand  had  passed  over  his  heart 
which  it  was  pressing.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  cricket 
match. 

My  first  sensation,  I  confess,  was  one  of  pride  at  being  the 
boy  to  discover  Freedham  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  fit.  I  went 
quickly  to  him  and  said:  "I  say,  Freedham.  Freedham, 
what's  the  matter  ?" 

**N-nothing,"  he  replied,  still  stiff  and  trembling.  ''But  it's 
all — right.  I  shall  be  quite — fit  again  in  a  minute.  Don't  look 
at  me." 


64  Tell  England  book  i 

"But  shall  I  get  you  water  or  something?" 

"No.  It's  all  right.  IVe  had  these  attacks  before.  In  class 
sometimes  and — IVe  conquered  them,  and — no  one's  known 
anything  about  them.  So  don't  tell  anyone  about  this. 
Promise." 

It  cost  me  something  to  throw  away  the  prospect  of  telling 
this  thrilling  story  of  which  I  had  exclusive  information,  but 
the  man  in  pain  is  master  of  us  all,  so  I  readily  promised. 

"All  right,  Freedham.     That's  all  right" 

Though  some  years  his  junior,  I  said  it  much  as  a  mother 
would  soothe  a  frightened  child  to  sleep. 

"Thanks  awfully,"  said  Freedham  gratefully. 

"Oh,  by  the  by,  there's  old  Dr.  Chapman  over  there.  Should 
I  fetch  him?" 

"No,  damn  you !"  cried  my  patient  with  extraordinary  con- 
viction. "Can't  you  mind  your  own  infernal  business  and  leave 
me  to  mind  mine  ?" 

This  was  so  rude  that  I  felt  quite  justified  in  leaving  him  to 
mind  his  own  infernal  business,  whatever  it  might  be.  I 
strolled  away. 

Now,  with  this  interesting  performance  of  Freedham's,  my 
desire  to  describe  this  cricket  match  ends.  There  was  a  hot 
finish,  but,  in  spite  of  some  fortunate  overs  from  myself,  the 
Suckers  won.  The  last  wicket  down,  Chappy  got  out  of  his 
deck-chair  with  a  sudden  quickness  which  suggested  that  such 
was  the  only  method  of  successfully  getting  his  fat  self  upon 
his  feet;  and,  when  he  had  shaken  down  his  white  waistcoat 
and  said :  "Bye-bye,  Radley.  Reg'lar  meals,  no  smoke,  and  you 
may  grow  into  a  fine  lad  yet,"  carried  himself  off  with  the 
awkward  leg-work  of  a  heavy-bodied  man,  cheerily  acknowl- 
edging the  greetings  of  the  little  Sucker  boys,  and  prodding  the 
fattest  of  them  in  the  ribs.  Radley  strolled  away,  followed  by 
the  wondering  looks  of  boys  who  were  told  that  this  big  man 
was  S.  T.  Radley,  of  Middlesex.  Freedham,  quite  recovered, 
returned  to  his  day-boy  roof  among  the  endless  roofs  of 
Kensingtowe  Town.  And  I  plied  homeward  to  Bramhall 
House,  depressed  by  the  prospect  of  Preparation  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  and  by  the  restored  consciousness  of  Fillet's 
hostility,  which,  forgotten  during  the  cricket  match,  now  came 
back  upon  me  like  a  sense  of  foreboding. 


CHAPTER  III 

AWFUL  ROUT  OF  RAY 

THE  following  afternoon  I  was  looking  rather  glumly  out 
of  a  window  at  the  broad  playing  fields  which,  in  the 
greyness  of  a  rainy  day,  seemed  as  deserted  as  myself.  From 
my  place  I  could  see  nearly  all  the  red-brick  wall  that  surrounds 
Kensingtowe  grounds;  I  could  see  the  iron  railings  which,  at 
long  intervals,  break  the  monotony  of  the  wall.  Now  the  rail- 
ings of  Kensingtowe,  like  all  places  with  sad  memories,  have 
an  honourable  place  in  my  heart. 

Naturally  it  was  a  rule,  strictly  enforced,  that  boys  must 
make  their  exit  from  the  fields  by  going  through  the  Bramhall 
gate  rather  than  over  the  railings.  Naturally,  too,  this  rule 
was  sometimes  disregarded,  for  the  architect,  whom  I  deem  a 
desirable  soul,  had  made  the  passage  over  the  railings  invitingly 
possible  by  means  of  some  well-placed  cross-pieces,  which  he 
sketched  into  his  designs,  saying  (I  imagine)  :  "We  shall  have 
the  lads  climbing  over  at  this  point — well,  God  bless  'em — I 
hope  they're  not  caught  and  whopped  for  it."     Right  at  the 

farthest  corner  of  the  field  was  the  Bramhall  gate,  which 

But  the  Bramhall  gate  needn't  interest  us:  v^e  leave  by  the 
railings. 

The  noise  of  a  footstep  disturbing  the  gravel  caused  me  to 
look  down.  A  boy,  hatless,  ran  across  to  the  wall  and  walked 
guiltily  beneath  it  till  he  reached  the  railings.  The  fairness  of 
his  hair  arrested  my  attention.  And,  while  I  was  wondering 
what  any  boy  might  be  doing  hatless  in  the  rain,  my  friend  Doe 
had  grasped  the  railings,  pulled  himself  to  their  top,  and 
dropped  on  to  the  pavement  beyond. 

Now,  my  dear  Watson,  here  was  a  case  of  exceptional 
interest.    In  all  the  annals  of  criminal  investigation  I  know  of 

65 


66  Tell  England  book  i 

none  that  presented  possibilities  more  bizarre,  none  that  called 
more  urgently  for  the  subtlest  qualities  of  the  private  detective. 
I  rushed  out  of  the  building,  letting  doors  slam  behind  me. 
Quickly  I  reached  the  railings,  raised  myself  to  the  top,  and 
glanced  down  the  road  in  time  to  see  Doe  join  the  lank  and 
sinister  figure  of  Freedham  at  the  corner. 

But  alas !  just  over  the  road  v^as  Bramhall  House,  Fillet's 
own  kingdom,  and  even  at  that  moment  I  saw  a  bald  head 
emerge  from  its  central  doorway.  A  feeling  that  was  partly 
terror  and  partly  temper  manacled  me  to  the  top  of  the  rail- 
ings; and  after  a  few  tense  seconds  I  was  gazing  fascinated 
into  a  little  bearded  face  which  was  staring  with  interest  up  at 
me.  It  was  Carpet  Slippers,  and  he  may  be  said  to  have  been 
round  a  corner. 

**Oh,  dash!''  I  muttered.  And  then,  as  I  stared  down  at 
him,  thinking  it  right  that  he,  by  virtue  of  his  seniority,  should 
open  the  conversation,  I  gradually  began  to  feel  better,  for  I 
remembered  that  it  was  War. 

"Hallo,  Ray,"  said  Fillet,  "what  may  you  be  d-d-doing  up 
there?" 

"Climbing  over,  sir."     (Indeed,  what  more  obvious?) 

"Oh,  you-you  are  climbing  over,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Oh,  indeed." 

When  I  saw  that  he  was  trifling  with  me,  I  determined  that 
he  should  know  it  was  War.     Defiantly  I  answered : 

"Yes,  sir.    Climbing  over.    Yes,  sir.    YES,  SIR." 

Fillet  went  white,  but  he  only  sucked  in  his  breath  and  said: 

"Oh,  indeed.    And  d-d-do  you  contemplate  coming  down?" 

I  borrowed  a  favourite  word  of  Penny's.    "Ultimately,  sir." 

"Ah!  you  do,  do  you?  Well,  wh-when  you  'ultimately' 
come  down,  you  will  go  straight  to  my  study." 

"Delighted,  sir."  The  blood  rushed  to  my  face  as  I  realised 
my  own  impudence,  but  I  was  glad  that  I  had  said  it. 

Fillet  went  his  way,  and  I  came  down  from  my  railing,  com- 
bating the  sickening  certainty  that  I  had  made  a  fool  of  myself, 
and  determining  to  believe  in  the  splendour  of  my  attitude  and 
to  carry  it  through  to  victory.  Carry  on,  Rupert,  carry  on. 
Onward,  Christian  soldiers. 

I  sauntered  over  to  Bramhall  House  and  climbed  the  stairs 


PART  I  Awful  Rout  of  Ray  67 

to  the  house-master's  study.  Hearing  Fillet  grunt  at  my  knock, 
I  walked  in  to  execution. 

"Oh,  let's  see,  Ray,  you  were  cl-climbing  over,  weren't  you?" 

"I  believe  so,  sir." 

''Oh,  indeed.  Then  you  shall  write  five  hundred  lines  of 
Cicero.    You'll  play  no  games  till  they're  done." 

Five  hundred  Latin  lines !  God !  I  had  nerved  myself  for 
physical  punishment,  but  for  nothing  so  dreadful  as  this.  This 
meant  long  days  of  confinement  with  hard,  hard  labour.  A 
great  mass  of  tears  rose  from  somewhere  and  came  danger- 
ously near  the  surface.  But  I  kept  them  down  and  tried  to 
show,  though  there  was  a  catch  in  my  voice,  that  I  was  still 
unbroken. 

"Yes,  sir.     Anything  further?" 

"Yes  indeed."  Carpet  Slippers  sucked  in  his  breath.  "A 
further  hundred  lines.  P;p-perhaps  that'll  teach  you  that  re- 
bellion is  expensive." 

I  swallowed  the  tears.    "No,  sir.    That  won't  teach  me." 

"So?    Well,  let's  say  yet  another  hundred." 

Mentally  stunned  and  bleeding,  but  ready  to  do  battle  with 
the  Day  of  Judgment  itself,  I  retorted : 

"That  won't  teach  me  either,  sir." 

"Oh,  indeed.  Then  we'll  add  another  three  hundred — eh? — 
making  a  thousand  in  all." 

And  at  that  point  I  shamefully  broke  off  the  fight.  It  wasn't 
fair — he  had  all  the  artillery.  I  held  back  the  tears,  fast 
gathering  in  volume,  and  gave  up  the  unequal  contest.  One 
day  my  own  guns  would  come.  Quite  respectfully  I  said  "Yes, 
sir,"  and  walked  out.  The  vanguard  of  that  mighty  array  of 
tears  had  forced  its  way  as  far  as  my  eyes,  which  felt  sus- 
piciously moist.  In  fact,  as  I  shut  the  door  and  found  myself 
alone — absolutely  alone — they  nearly  came  forth  in  full  cat- 
aract. But  I  saved  the  situation  by  thinking  hard  of  other 
things  and  whistling  loudly. 

I  went  to  an  open  window  in  the  corridor  and,  looking  out, 
saw  that  the  sun  had  just  dispelled  the  rain.  The  railings  of 
Kensingtowe  over  the  roadway  were  still  burnished  and  glisten- 
ing with  wet,  as  were  the  leaves  of  shrubs  and  trees.  And  the 
air  that  touched  my  cheek  was  all  soft  and  sweet-smelling  after 
rain.     Resting  my  elbows  on  the  window-sill,  I  told  myself 


68  Tell  England  book  i 

that  I  hated  Carpet  Slippers;  that  I  hated  Doe  and  it  was  all 
his  fault;  that  I  wouldn't  do  the  lines — I  wouldn't  do  them; 
that  I  didn't  care  if  I  was  expelled ;  Kensingtowe  was  a  beastly 
school,  and  Bramhall  was  its  filthiest  house. 

The  sound  of  a  step  in  the  corridor  behind  me  arrested  my 
thoughts.  I  leaned  farther  out  of  the  window  and  muttered: 
*'Oh,  I  hope  he  won't  speak  to  me.  I  hope  he'll  pass  by.  I 
hate  him,  whoever  he  is.  O  God,  make  him  pass  by,"  for  I 
knew  there  was  a  moisture  in  my  eyes.  I  hurriedly  held  them 
wide  open,  that  they  might  dry  in  the  sun. 

"Ray?"  It  was  Radley's  voice,  but  I  wilfully  paid  no 
attention. 

In  a  second  he  had  laid  violent  hands  on  me  and  swung  me 
round,  so  that  I  was  held  facing  him. 

*'What  ?  Crying,  Ray  ?  That's  a  luxury  we  men  must  deny 
ourselves." 

It  seems,  as  I  recall  it,  a  fine  sentence,  but  at  that  moment, 
when  I  wanted  to  be  a  wild  ass  among  men,  it  was  a  lie.  The 
hot  blood  flooded  my  forehead.  I'm  not  crying!"  I  snapped, 
keeping  my  face  upturned,  my  eyes  fixed  on  his,  and  my  teeth 
firmly  set,  that  he  might  see  that  he  had  lied. 

"No,  of  course  you're  not.  But  come,  now,  Ray,  what's  the 
matter?  Out  with  it!  There's  nobody  but  me  to  hear  you. 
And  I  understand." 

I  didn't  want  him  to  speak  kindly  to  me,  for  I  hated  him.  So 
I  said  in  a  rapid,  trembling  voice : 

"I've  got  a  thousand  lines  from  Mr.  Fillet.  I  didn't  deserve 
them  and  I'm  not  going  to  do  them !" 

Immediately  I  felt  that  a  catastrophe  had  occurred — that  an 
edifice,  which  had  been  standing  a  second  ago,  was  now  no 
more.  Before  that  sentence  I  had  faced  a  kindly  friend,  now  I 
faced  an  offended  master.  But,  though  I  knew  the  ruin  my 
words  had  wrought,  I  indulged  a  glow  of  self-righteousness 
and  was  prepared  to  relate  my  defiance  to  an  approving  world. 

"Come  with  me,"  commanded  Radley.  Swinging  round,  he 
walked  towards  his  room.  At  first  I  remained  at  the  window 
without  moving,  and  waited  for  him  to  turn  his  head  and  tell 
me  a  second  time  to  come.  But  he  walked  on,  never  entertain- 
ing the  thought  of  my  not  obeying  him.  And  I  followed,  armed 
with  indifference.     It  was  a  pity  that  walking  behind  him 


PART  I  Awful  Rout  of  Ray  69 

should  give  me  so  fine  a  view  of  his  splendid  proportions  and 
inflate  me  with  strange  aspirations,  for  I  hated  the  man  and 
wanted  to  do  so.  I  hated  him — let  no  other  thought  replace 
that. 

He  led  me  to  his  room  and  said  "Come  in."  I  entered  and, 
when  I  had  closed  the  door,  looked  aimlessly  about,  taking  little 
interest  in  the  suggestive  fact  that  Radley  was  opening  a  cup- 
board. There  was  little  change  in  my  countenance  when  he 
placed  himself  opposite  me  with  his  cane  in  his  hand. 

"You  have  been  very  rude  to  me  in  speaking  defiantly  of 
your  house-master.    Do  you  understand?'' 

There  was  no  alternative  for  me  but  to  say  "Yes,  sir."  The 
answer  came  huskily.  I  was  annoyed  that  my  voice  sounded 
hoarse. 

"Put  out  your  hand." 

I  obeyed,  stretching  out  my  right  hand  as  far  as  I  could  and 
displaying  no  perturbation,  though  I  was  wondering  what  it 
would  be  like  to  be  caned  on  the  hand.  This  was  one  of 
Radley 's  surprises,  and  he  followed  it  with  one  of  his  brutal 
remarks : 

"Put  that  right  hand  down.  You'll  need  it  to  be  in  good 
condition  for  writing  your  lines.    Put  up  your  left." 

I  held  out  my  left  hand.  The  cane  sang  in  the  air  and 
whistled  on  to  my  open  palm.  A  spasm  of  pain  passed  up  my 
arm,  my  hand  closed  convulsively,  my  elbow  drooped,  and  that 
vast  array  of  tears  made  a  tremendous  effort  to  carry  every- 
thing before  them.  But  with  all  the  strength  at  my  command 
I  got  the  better  of  them.  Angry  at  having  closed  my  hand,  I 
extended  the  scorching  palm  again,  and,  very  pale  and  trem- 
bling perceptibly,  looked  with  set  features  straight  at  Radley. 

He  threw  the  cane  away  and,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his 
table,  took  hold  of  the  hand  that  he  had  struck  and  drew  me 
towards  him. 

"Don't  you  think,  Ray,  that  you,  who  can  take  a  licking  so 
pluckily,  ought  to  face  bad  luck  in  a  less  cowardly  fashion  than 
you  have  this  afternoon  ?  You'll  meet  worse  things  than  lines 
before  you're  ten  years  older;  and,  Ray,  I  want  you  always  to 
face  your  fate,  whatever  it  may  be,  as  you  faced  my  cane — 
teeth  set,  no  wincing." 

It  was  a  stroke  of  master  play.    His  gentleness,  following 


70  Tell  England  book  i 

immediately  upon  his  severity,  burst  the  dam.  His  words  were 
an  "Open  Sesame"  to  the  leaky  floodgates  I  had  held  so  tightly 
closed.  I  hung  my  head  and  the  huge  throng  of  tears  broke 
forth.  Wo-ho,  what  a  cascade!  My  eyes  overflowed  with 
salt  tears  and  my  nose  wanted  wiping.  Oh,  waly,  waly.  Rad- 
ley  seemed  indisposed  to  let  go  of  my  left  hand,  so  I  was 
compelled  to  search  for  my  handkerchief  with  my  right.  After 
sounding  the  depths  of  four  pockets,  I  found  it,  a  singularly 
dirty  one,  in  the  fifth.  And,  while  great  internal  sobs  shook 
my  frame  with  the  regularity  of  minute-guns,  Radley  spoke  so 
nicely  that  I  determined  I  would  be  everything  he  wanted,  a 
really  beautiful  character — always  providing  that  it  didn't  inter- 
fere with  my  war  with  Fillet.  For  one  day — one  great  and 
distant  day — I  would  terribly  overthrow  that  little  old  panta- 
loon. 

"Now,  Ray,  we  must  get  someone  to  dictate  a  few  of  these 
lines  to  you." 

I  looked  up  and  smiled.  "Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  and  I 
unconsciously  pressed  his  hand. 

"Doe  is  your  friend.  We'll  test  his  metal  and  see  whether  he 
thinks  friendship  is  something  more  than  getting  into  scrapes 
together."    He  touched  a  bell.    "I'll  send  for  him." 

I  gave  a  sudden  shiver.  Doe  was  out  in  the  world  with 
Freedham,  probably  without  an  "exeat,"  and  certainly  without 
a  hat.  I  began  to  wonder  whether  by  a  dramatic  denouement 
I  was  to  be  the  cause  of  Doe's  capture. 

"You  rang,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  manservant. 

"Yes ;  find  Master  Doe.    He's  in  the  house." 

"Yes,  sir."  The  door  closed,  and  it  was  too  late.  Too  late 
for  what  ?  I  was  sure  I  didn't  know,  for  there  was  nothing  I 
could  have  done  to  prevent  the  search  for  Doe.  Late  emotion 
had  left,  I  suppose,  my  imagination  in  an  overwrought  state. 
And  I 'had  reason  to  wonder  if  I  was  moving  in  a  dream, 
when,  after  a  knock  at  the  door.  Doe  walked  in,  his  eyes 
sparkling  at  having  been  sent  for  by  the  object  of  his  worship. 

"Now,  Doe,"  began  Radley,  with  a  smile — 

"This  life's  mostly   froth  and  bubble. 
Two  things  stand  like  stone: 
Kindness  in  another's  trouble, 
Courage  in  your  own. 


PART  I  Awful  Rout  of  Ray  71 

Ray's  just  got  a  thousand  lines  of  Cicero.  But  he  understands 
all  about  'courage  in  your  own/  and  you  understand  all  about 
'kindness  in  another's  trouble/  " 

"Yes,  sir/'  agreed  Doe,  a  bit  bewildered,  but  instantly  pre- 
pared to  live  up  to  this  noble  reputation. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  to  dictating  some  of  the  lines  to 
him?" 

"Rather,  sir.  I'll  dictate  them.  .  .  .  Besides,  sir,"  he  added, 
as  if  this  explained  everything,  "Ray  and  I  are  twins/' 


§2 

And  not  a  game  did  Doe  play  until  he  had  dictated  all  those 
lines.  It  occupied  a  week  and  two  days.  When  I  dropped  my 
pen,  having  written  the  last  word,  the  relief  of  thinking  that  I 
had  no  more  lines  to  write  was  almost  painful.  I  felt  suddenly 
ill.  My  loins,  aching  alarmingly,  reminded  me  that  I  had  been 
in  a  sitting  posture  for  many  a  weary  hour ;  and  my  fingers, 
suffering  from  what  I  judged  to  be  rheumatism  or  gout,  fid- 
geted to  go  on  writing.  My  mind,  too,  was  confused  so  that  I 
found  myself  repeating  whole  lines  of  Cicero,  sometimes 
aloud ;  and  my  face  was  pale,  save  for  a  dangerous  pink  flush 
on  the  forehead. 

Life,  however,  seemed  brightened  by  the  sense  of  a  task 
completed,  and  I  began  to  think  of  someone  else  besides  my- 
self. 

"I  say.  Doe/'  I  asked,  "aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  where 
you  were  going  when  you  joined  that  knock-kneed  idiot  Freed- 
ham?" 

"No,"  announced  Doe. 

"But  look  here,"  I  began,  and  was  just  about  to  tell  him  that 
Freedham  was  an  unwholesome  creature  who  had  mysterious 
fits  like  a  demoniac,  when  I  remembered  my  promise  of  silence : 
so  I  went  on  lamely :  "You  will  tell  me  one  day,  won't  you?" 

"No,"  he  repeated,  feeling  very  firm  and  adamant  and 
Napoleonic. 

"But,  my  darling  blighter,  why  not?" 

"Because  I  don't  choose  to." 


72  Tell  England  book  i 

"Then  you're  a  pig.  But  you  might,  Doe.  Out  with  it. 
There's  nobody  but  me  to  hear  you.    And  I  understand." 

"No." 

"Well,  tell  me,  how  did  you  get  back  so  early  ?" 

"You  see,"  answered  Doe,  cryptically,  "the  sun  came  out; 
and  when  the  sun  came  out,  I  came  in." 

It  was  a  romantic  sentence  such  as  would  delight  this  rudi- 
mentary poet.  Why  he  condescended  to  break  his  mighty 
silence  even  to  this  extent,  I  don't  know.  It  was  perhaps  a 
boyish  love  of  hinting  at  a  secret  which  he  mustn't  disclose.  An 
awful  idea  struck  me.  I  say  it  was  awful  because,  though 
stirring  in  itself,  it  brought  the  thought  that  I  was  left  out  of  it. 

"Oh,  Doe,  have  you — have  you  a  Secret  Society?" 

"No." 

"Here,  hang  me,  Doe,"  I  said,  "you're  not  only  a  shocking 
bad  conversationalist,  but  also  a  little  mad.  That's  your  doc- 
tor's opinion.    That'll  be  a  guinea,  please." 

And  I  got  up  to  take  the  lines  to  Fillet. 

"I  say,  Rupert,"  said  Doe,  blushing  and  looking  away. 

"Well  ?"  I  asked,  with  my  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

"I  say,"  he  stuttered,  "you — you  might  just  mention  to 
Radley  .that  I  dictated  all  the  lines.  It  would  sort  of — I 
mean Oh,  but  you  needn't,  rf  you  don't  want  to." 


§3 

That  night  there  happened  in  Bramhall  House  one  of  those 
strange  events  that  are  best  chronicled  in  a  few  cold  sentences. 
That  night,  I  say,  while  honest  men  and  boys  slept,  Mr.  Fillet 
sat  up  in  bed  and  listened.  He  distinctly  heard  movements  in 
his  study  below.  Jumping  up,  he  slided  into  his  carpet  slippers 
and  crept  downstairs.  There  was  a  light  in  his  study.  He 
looked  round  the  half-open  door  and  saw  the  back  view  of  a  boy 
in  pyjamas.  The  whole  incident  is  much  too  sinister  for  me  to 
remind  you  frivolously  that  little  Carpet  Slippers  was  once  again 
round  his  corner.  He  began :  "Wh-what  are  you  doing?"  and 
the  boy  at  once  did  what  any  properly  constituted  midnight 


PART  I  Awful  Rout  of  Ray  73 

visitor  should  do — switched  off  the  electric  light.  When  Mr. 
Fillet,  with  a  heart  going  like  a  motor  engine,  found  the  switch 
and  flooded  the  room  with  light,  there  was,  of  course,  no  one 
there.  But  on  his  writing-table  lay  his  cane,  broken  into  pieces, 
and  my  own  copy  of  the  thousand  lines  torn  into  little  bits. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PREFECTS  GO  OVER  TO  THE  ENEMY 
§    I 

WHAT  more  exciting  than  for  the  whole  school  to  learn 
by  rumour  the  next  morning  that  all  the  prefects  of 
Bramhall  House  had  been  mysteriously  withdrawn  from  their 
Olympian  class-rooms  to  a  special  cabinet  meeting  under  the 
presidency  of  Stanley,  the  gorgeous  house-captain?  Clearly 
some  awful  crime  had  been  committed  at  Bramhall,  and  there 
would  be  a  public  whacking  and  an  expulsion.  We  humans 
may  or  may  not  be  brutal,  but  life  is  certainly  more  stimulating 
when  there  is  an  execution  in  the  air. 

Chattering,  prophesying,  and  wondering  who  was  the  crimi- 
nal, we  found  our  way  to  our  various  class-rooms.  It  being 
First  Period,  Doe,  Penny,  and  I  were  under  Radley's  stem 
rule  and  obliged  to  sit  quietly  in  our  desks,  knowing  that  he 
would  allow  no  more  licence  on  this  exciting  day  than  on  any 
other.  Our  heads  were  bent  over  our  work  when  Bickerton, 
the  junior  prefect  of  Bramhall,  entered  the  room,  approached 
the  master's  desk,  and  spoke  in  an  undertone  to  Radley. 

I  saw — for  I  was  gazing  at  the  new  arrival  over  my  work — 
Radley  look  astonished,  and  turn  his  eyes  in  my  direction. 

"Ray.'' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You're  wanted  in  the  Prefects'  Room." 

I  remember  the  universal  flutter  of  excitement  and  surprise; 
I  remember  Doe  raising  his  head  like  a  startled  deer  as  I  went 
out  and  shut  the  door;  I  remember  catching,  from  outside, 
Radley's  sharp  rebuke,  "Get  on  with  your  work."  His  voice 
sounded  strangely  distant,  and  seemed  to  be  on  the  happier  side 
of  a  closed  door. 

Bickerton,  who  was  enjoying  himself,  walked  in  front;  and 
I  followed  behind,  bringing  my  attention  to  bear  upon  keeping 

74 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy       75 

in  step.  Rearranging  my  stride  now  and  then,  I  marched 
through  the  empty  corridors,  listening  to  the  drone  of  masters' 
voices  teaching  in  their  class-rooms,  and  wondering  at  the 
loudness  of  our  footsteps.  The  sight  of  the  prefects'  door  gave 
me  my  first  sense  of  fear. 

Being  a  prefect  and  thus  mightily  privileged,  Bickerton 
turned  the  door-handle  of  the  room  without  knocking.  It 
was  like  laying  a  hand  upon  the  Ark.  Into  the  holy  place  Doe 
and  I  had  passed  before,  not  as  prisoners,  but  as  patronised 
pets  who  were  suffered  to  amuse  the  august  tenants  with  our 
'Uip"  until  we  became  too  disrespectful,  when  we  would  be 
ejected  with  a  kick.  This  morning  it  struck  strange  and  cold 
to  hear  Bickerton  say : 

''Here's  the  little  bounder." 

I  entered,  and  saw  the  whole  array  of  Bramhall  prefects 
assembled,  Stanley,  their  senior,  presiding.  Bickerton  shut  the 
door  ceremoniously. 

There  were  twelve  of  them,  and  every  man  was  a  blood. 
They  had  reached  a  solemn  age  and,  in  the  dignity  of  their 
bloodhood,  were  quite  unaware  that  they  were  playing  at  a 
mock-trial  and  enjoying  it.  I'm  sure  none  of  them  would  have 
missed  it.  Were  Stanley  alive  now,  instead  of  lying  beneath 
the  sea  off  GallipoH,  he  would  be  twenty-seven  years  of  age, 
very  junior  in  his  profession,  and  therefore  much  younger 
than  when  he  was  a  house-captain  of  nineteen :  and  he  would 
admit  that  on  this  famous  occasion  he  and  his  fellow-prefects 
were  highly  pleased  with  the  transaction  entrusted  to  them. 
For  at  twenty-seven  we  are  people  who  have  been  old  and  now 
are  young  again. 

His  team  sat  down  two  sides  of  a  long  table,  and  himself 
was  enthroned  at  the  top  in  front  of  foolscap  and  blotting- 
paper.    It  was  a  splendid  tribunal. 

I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  I  was  perfectly  comfortable, 
and  could,  if  need  be,  show  my  easy  conscience  by  a  little  old- 
time  impudence.  In  reality  my  heart  was  fluttering,  and  a 
perspiration  had  broken  out  upon  my  head  and  the  palms  of 
my  hands.  My  brows  I  wiped  on  my  sleeve,  and  my  hands  I 
rubbed  on  the  seat  of  my  trousers.  Nor  had  I  lost  the  head- 
ache which  asserted  itself  directly  my  long  imposition  was 
done.    My  forehead  felt  as  if  it  had  swollen  and  extended  the 


76  Tell  England  book  i 

skin  across  it  like  elastic.  And  for  the  last  twelve  hours  my 
face  had  been  warm  and  burning. 

"Now,  Rupert  Ray/'  said  Stanley,  "we  want  you  to  own  up 
to  this  blooming  business  of  last  night.    So  fire  away.'' 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  gassing  about,"  said  I. 

"Now  don't  be  sulky.  You'll  only  make  matters  worse  by  try- 
ing to  bluif  us.   And  goodness  knows  they're  bad  enough  as  it  is." 

"Oh,  to  think  how  we've  been  disappointed  in  you!"  inter- 
posed Bickerton,  who  had  taken  up  a  position  on  the  fender. 
"To  think  how  we've  cherished  this  viper  in  our  bosom!" 
And  he  raised  his  hands  in  mock  despair. 

"Now  don't  be  an  ass,  Bicky,"  said  Stanley,  who  deemed 
that  a  Court  of  Inquiry  over  which  he  presided  was  much  too 
weighty  an  affair  to  be  approached  with  levity ;  "it's  no  joking 
matter.  The  kid's  in  a  beastly  mess,  and,  when  he  owns  up,  we 
must  try  to  get  him  off  as  lightly  as  possible.  I  think  perhaps 
we've  let  this  youth  and  his  chum,  the  Gray  Doe,  get  too  cheeky, 
and  to  that  extent  we're  to  blame.  .  .  .  Now,  Ray,  answer  me 
some  questions.  Did  you  get  a  thousand  lines  from  our  re- 
vered housemaster.  Carpet — Mr.  Fillet?" 

"Yes." 

"When  did  you  complete  them  ?" 

"Yesterday  afternoon." 

"In  short,  on  the  afternoon  immediately  preceding  the 
tragedy  which  took  place  in  the  microscopic  hours  of  this 
morning  ?" 

"Yes,  I  s'pose  so." 

"That's  a  remarkable  coincidence,  isn't  it?" 

"I'm  bothered  if  I  see  why." 

"My  dear  child,  you  really  mustn't  be  'bothered'  in  here.  It's 
gross  disrespect  to  my  brother-prefects — my  colleagues.  Be- 
sides, you  knew  perfectly  well  that  in  the  stilly  night  a  malicious 
attempt  was  made  upon — not  upon  the  life — but  upon  the  cane 
of  Mr.  Fillet,  which  is,  after  all,  the  life  and  soul  of  the  little 
man." 

There  was  laughter  in  court,  in  which  his  worship  joined. 

"O  law !"  ejaculated  I,  as  things  began  to  fall  into  shape. 

"Really,  child,  such  expressions  as  'O  law !'  are  out  of  order, 
especially  when  they're  only  so  much  bluff.  ...  I  must  now 
approach  a  subject  which  may  have  sordid  recollections  for 


PART    I 


The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy       77 


you,  but  in  the  interest  of  the  law  I  am  bound  to  allude  to  it. 
Were  you  whacked — ahem! — chastised  a  few  days  ago  by  the 
aforesaid  Mr.  Fillet?" 

*Tes." 

*'When  did  the  old  gaffer — when  did  Mr.  Fillet  whack  you  ?" 

"Yes,  tell  the  gentleman  that,"  put  in  Kepple-Goddard,  a 
prefect  who  felt  that  he  was  not  playing  a  sufficiently  imposing 
part  and  wished  to  have  his  voice  heard. 

"A  week  ago  last  Monday,"  I  answered. 

"Where  did  he  whack  you  ?"  pursued  Stanley. 

"On  the  recognised  spot." 

"Now,  don't  be  cheeky.    In  what  place  did  he  whack  you?" 

"Why,  in  his  class-room,  of  course,"  I  retorted.  "Where  do 
you  think  he'd  do  it?  In  the  High  Street?"  As  I  said  this  I 
was  seized  with  a  nervous  fiit  of  giggling. 

"Look  here,  sonny,"  said  Kepple-Goddard,  rapping  on  the 
table,  "you're  going  the  right  way  towards  getting  a  prefects' 
whacking  for  contempt  of  court." 

Stanley  raised  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Why  did  he  whack  you  ?" 

"Because  he  couldn't  get  my  sum  right." 

Here  Banana-Skin,  a  large  and  overbearing  prefect,  so  called 
because  of  his  yellowish  complexion,  burst  in  with  the  skill  of 
a  prosecuting  counsel : 

"Oh,  then,  are  we  to  understand  that  you  were  whacked 
unjustly  and  had  reason  for  vindictiveness  ?" 

"Go  easy,  Banana-Skin,"  protested  Stanley.  "Don't  bully 
the  kid." 

"But,"  I  said,  beginning  to  feel  that  horrid  array  of  tears 
mobilising  again,  "that  was  some  time  before  he  gave  me  the 
lines " 

"Don't  beat  about  the  bush,"  interrupted  Banana-Skin.  "Did 
you  feel  that  you  hated  him?" 

The  question  was  not  answered  at  once.  I  cannot  explain 
how  it  was,  but  the  figure  of  Radley  stood  very  clearly  before 
my  mind's  eye,  and  this  helped  me  to  speak  the  truth,  though 
my  voice  broke  a  bit. 

"Yes." 

"Ah !"  Everybody  considered  Banana-Skin  to  have  elicited 
a  damning  admission. 


78  Tell  England 


BOOK    I 


"Now,"  continued  Stanley,  his  curiosity  superseding  his 
sense  of  what  was  relevant,  ''how  many  cuts  did  he  give  you?'* 

"Ten." 

"Poor  little  beggar!    Didn't  that  seem  to  you  rather  a  lot?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"Now  answer  the  Coroner  that,"  commanded  Kepple- 
Goddard. 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"H'm!"  grunted  Stanley.  "How  did  you  know  where  you 
could  find  your  thousand  lines  so  that  you  could  tear  them  up  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean.    You've  bluffing  now." 

"Hallo!"  cried  Banana-Skin.  "Didn't  you  hear  him  say 
^You're  bluffing  now'?  That  shows  that  he  was  bluffing 
before." 

"Oh,  that's  a  bit  too  clever!"  objected  Stanley.  "Give  the 
kid  a  chance." 

There's  nothing  like  sympathy  for  provoking  misery  and 
starting  tears,  and,  as  Stanley  uttered  that  sentence,  I  decided 
that  God  had  gone  over  to  the  prefects,  and  I  would  very  much 
like  to  cry.  To  drive  back  the  tears  I  called  to  my  aid  all  the 
callousness  and  sulkiness  which  I  possess.  My  face  was  the 
portrait  of  a  sulky  schoolboy  as  Stanley  continued : 

"Now,  Ray,  which  door  did  you  leave  the  dormitory  by  ?" 

"I  didn't  leave  it." 

"I  say,"  suggested  Kepple-Goddard,  "couldn't  we  send 
Bickerton  to  ask  all  the  boys  who  sleep  in  the  same  dormitory 
whether  they  saw  him  leave  it  ?" 

"But  they'd  have  been  asleep,  you  ox !"  put  in  Banana-Skin. 

"Not  necessarily." 

"But  it  doesn't  follow  that,  if  they  didn't  see  him  leave  the 
dormitory,  he  didn't  do  it,"  objected  Banana-Skin,  the  self- 
constituted  prosecuting  counsel,  who  didn't  want  to  see  his  case 
fall  to  the  ground. 

"Not  quite.  But  if  they  did  see  him,  it  proves  him  a  liar  and 
pretty  well  shows  that  he  did." 

"There's  more  sense  in  Kepple's  idea  than  one  would  ex- 
pect," gave  Stanley  as  his  decision.  "Dash  away,  Bicky,  and 
find  out." 

So  Bickerton — or  shall  I  call  him  Mercury,  the  messenger  of 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy       79 

the  gods  ? — went,  and  I  remained.  It  was  no  matter  to  me  what 
news  he  brought  back.  I  stood  there,  in  the  lions'  den,  and 
counted  the  cracks  in  the  ceiling.  I  counted,  also,  the  nimiber 
of  corners  that  the  room  possessed,  and  remembered  how  these 
same  prefects  had  often  (as  when  gods  disport  themselves) 
tried  to  make  Doe  and  me  stand  in  them  for  what  they  termed 
"unmitigated  cheek" ;  how,  giggling,  we  would  fight  them  and 
kick  them  till  they  surrounded  us  and  held  us  with  our  faces  to 
the  wall ;  and  how  we  would  call  them  all  the  rude  names  we 
could  think  of  till  they  stuffed  handkerchiefs  in  our  mouths  as 
a  gag.  One  of  their  favourite  pastimes  had  been  to  do  Doe's 
hair,  which  they  darkened  with  their  wet  brushes.  It  was 
usually  a  difficult  business,  as  Doe  would  treat  the  whole 
operation  in  a  disorderly  spirit  and  declare  that  it  tickled. 

Presently  Bickerton  was  heard  running  up  the  corridor 
(rather  undignified  for  a  prefect)  and  came  bursting  into  the 
room. 

"Now  listen,"  said  he,  somewhat  out  of  breath,  and  looking 
at  a  sheet  of  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  "Two  boys  saw 
Ray  get  up  and  leave  the  dormitory  last  night.  They  sleep  on 
either  side  of  him,  and  their  names  are  Pennybet  and  Doe. 
The  latter  isn't  sure  whether  he  dreamt  it." 

"Well,  Ray,  what  have  you  got  to  say  to  that?"  asked 
Stanley. 

"Nothing,"  I  answered,  "except  that,  if  it's  true,  I  must 
have  been  walking  in  my  sleep.  I  did  once,  when  I  was  a  small 
boy." 

Stanley  ignored  my  feeble  defence.  He  submitted  to  his 
colleagues  that  it  was  all  his  eye  and  Betty  Martin;  and  the 
others  nodded  assent.  Then  the  Chairman,  recovering  from 
his  slight  relapse  into  the  vernacular  of  the  Fourth  Form, 
enunciated  the  following  remarkable  sentence : 

"This  inquest  has,  you  will  agree,  been  conducted  by  me  in  a 
strictly  impartial  and  disinterested  way,  and  the  proceedings 
have  been  conspicuous  for  the  absence  of  any  bias,  prejudice, 
or  bigotry." 

"Whew !"  whistled  several  boys.  Stanley  let  a  grin  hover  in 
a  well-bred  way  about  his  lips  as  he  recommenced,  the  sentence 
being  well-prepared  and  worth  repeating : 


80  Tell  England  book  i 

'There  has  been  no  bias,  prejudice,  or  bigotry.    Well,  gen- 
tlemen, is  the  corpse  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?'' 
'^Guilty,  the  little  beast !" 

I  went  out  of  that  cruel  room  resolved  that  "beneath  all  the 
bludgeonings  of  chance  my  head  should  be  bloody  but  un- 
bowed." I  was  unconquerable!  I  walked  along  the  corridor, 
blown  out  with  injured  virtue — a  King  among  men.  We  assure 
you,  our  beloved  subjects,  we  were  Rupert  Head-in- Air. 

I  returned  to  Radley's  class-room  and  entered  jauntily.  All 
eyes  turned  and  followed  me  as  I  walked  to  the  master's  desk. 
The  excitement  experienced  by  each  boy  seemed  communicated 
to  me.     Radley  feigned  indifference. 

"Well?"  said  he. 

"I've  come  back,  sir." 

"Right.    Go  and  sit  down." 

Scarcely  had  I  reached  my  seat  before  the  bell  rang  loudly 
for  the  Interval.  The  boys  in  their  anxiety  to  hear  the  latest 
news  flowed  out  hurriedly.  I  lingered  apprehensively  behind. 
At  last  I  summoned  up  courage  to  venture  into  the  corridor, 
where  I  found  a  group  of  boys  awaiting  me.  Through  these  I 
broke  at  a  rush  and  went  and  hid. 

All  that  Interval  lip  tossed  to  lip  such  remarks  as :  "Ray  did 
it."  "I  say,  have  you  heard  Ray's  the  culprit?"  "What'll  be 
done  to  him?"  "Oh,  the  prefects  have  issued  an  edict  that 
anyone  who  holds  communication  with  him  will  get  a  Prefects' 
Whacking."  "Ray  did  it."  "What?  that  kid?  Little  devil- 
it's  good-bye  to  him,  I  suppose."  "What'U  Radley  say  ?  He's 
one  of  his  latest  bally  pets."     "Ray  did  it." 

After  ten  minutes  the  Second  Period  began.  As  our  form 
went  to  Herr  Reinhardt,  the  great  Mr.  Csesar,  and  he  would 
certainly  be  late,  I  dawdled  in  my  hiding-place,  not  having  the 
courage  to  face  the  boys  in  the  corridor.  I  waited  till  I  con- 
jectured that  Mr.  Csesar  must  be  safe  in  his  class-room,  and  the 
boys  in  their  desks.  Then  I  entered  his  room,  famous  character 
as  I  was,  and  apologised  for  being  late.  Mr.  Csesar  wrote  my 
name  in  the  Imposition  Book,  but,  having  raised  his  face  and 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      81 

given  one  look  at  my  swollen,  tearful  eyes,  he  deliberately 
crossed  the  name  out  again.  And,  indeed,  throughout  that 
period  he  so  consistently  refused  to  see  that  the  boys  were 
showing  detestation  of  my  degrading  presence,  and  was  so 
inexpressibly  gentle  in  his  manner  towards  me,  that  now  I 
always  think  of  this  weak-eyed  German  master  as  a  quiet  and 
Christian  gentleman. 

When  school-hours  were  over  I  went  to  a  window,  and 
there,  leaning  on  the  sill,  thought  how  badly  my  war  was 
going.  Fillet  was  winning ;  he  had  won  when  he  caned  me  for 
asking  the  number  of  the  sum ;  he  had  won  when  he  gave  me 
the  thousand  lines ;  and  now  he  was  assaulting  in  mass  forma- 
tion with  the  whole  school  as  his  allies.  Ah,  well !  as  Welling- 
ton said  at  Waterloo — it  depended  who  could  stand  this  pound- 
ing longest,  gentlemen. 

And,  as  Wellington  did,  I  would  charge  at  the  end  of  the 
day.  One  splendid  way  of  charging,  I  thought,  would  be  to  die 
immediately.  That  would  be  most  effective.  How  Fillet  would 
prick  up  his  ears  on  Monday  morning  when  he  heard  the  Head 
Master  say  to  the  school  assembled  in  the  Great  Hall :  "Your 
prayers  are  asked  for  your  schoolfellow,  Rupert  Ray,  who  is 
lying  at  the  point  of  death."  And  on  Tuesday,  when  he  should 
say  in  a  shaking  voice:  "Your  schoolfellow,  Ray,  died  early 
this  morning.  His  passing  was  beautiful;  and  may  my  last 
moments  be  like  his."  And  then  there  would  be  the  Dead 
March. 

Having  no  one  to  talk  to,  I  drew  out  from  among  the 
crumbs  and  rubbish  in  my  pockets  a  letter  that  had  arrived 
from  my  mother  that  morning.  My  young  mother's  love  for 
me  was  always  of  the  extravagant  kind,  and  the  words  with 
which  she  closed  this  letter  were : 

"I  do  hope  you  are  having  a  magnificent  time  and  that 
everybody  is  fond  of  you  and  nice  to  you.  I  must  stop  now, 
so  good-bye,  my  darling  little  son,  and  God  bless  you.  With 
heaps  of  love  from  your  ever  devoted  and  affectionate 
Mother." 

It  was  funny  that  I  had  not  even  noticed  those  words  when 
I  hurriedly  read  them  in  the  morning.  But  now  I  found  them 
strangely  comforting,  strangely  satisfying. 


82  Tell  England 


BOOK    I 


A  slap  on  the  back  awoke  me  from  my  reverie.    It  was  Doe. 

*'Come  along,  Rupert.  I  know  you  didn't  do  it.  Or,  if  you 
did,  I  don't  care.     We're  twins." 

"Go  away.  You'll  get  into  a  dreadful  row  if  you're  caught 
talking  to  me." 

"I  don't  care.  They  won't  think  any  the  worse  of  me,  what- 
ever they  do." 

*'Go  away,  I  tell  you.  Or,  if  you  don't,  I  shall  have  to,  and 
I'm  very  comfortable  here." 

*1  shan't.    And  if  you  try  to  escape  me  I'll  follow  you." 

"Oh,  why  can't  you  go  away?"  I  grumbled  with  something 
like  a  sob.    "Go  away.    Go  away." 

But  Doe  persisted.  In  full  view  of  the  prefects  he  chatted 
gaily  to  me.  Once,  as  Radley  passed,  he  slipped  his  arm  into 
mine.     And  when  the  master  was  out  of  hearing  he  asked : 

"I  s'pose  Radley  knows  you're  in  Coventry  ?" 

"Of  course.    Everybody  does." 

"Do  you  think  he  saw  I  had  my  arm  in  yours  ?" 

"I  should  think  so.     You  made  it  pretty  obvious." 

"I  wonder  what  he  thought." 

All  this  time  the  skin  on  my  forehead  seemed  to  tighten  and 
miy  cheeks  to  tingle  with  warmth.  Towards  evening  my  tem- 
ples began  to  beat  regularly.  At  these  symptoms  I  was  rather 
thrilled  than  otherwise,  for  I  felt  there  was  a  distinct  prospect 
of  my  turning  the  tables  on  everybody  by  dying. 

At  preparation  the  boys,  with  that  lust  to  punish  to  which  a 
crowd  is  always  susceptible,  slid  along  the  form  to  get  as  far 
from  me  as  possible  and  to  leave  plenty  of  room  for  myself  and 
my  contamination. 

In  the  dormitory  no  one  spoke  to  me,  but  as  I  was  getting 
into  my  pyjamas  one  of  the  dormitory  prefects  burst  in  and 
addressed  a  senior  boy : 

"I  say,  talking  about  this  row  of  Rupert  Ray's,  isn't  the 
Gray  Doe  going  to  catch  it  to-morrow,  by  jove?" 

In  my  anxiety  about  Doe  I  forgot  that  I  was  banned. 

"What's  he  going  to  get?"  My  voice  sounded  husky  and 
strange.  The  boys  didn't  answer  me  or  show  that  they  had 
heard.  They  ostentatiously  proceeded  with  their  conversation. 
Even  Pennybet  had  his  back  turned.  I  flung  myself  into  my 
bed  in  a  way  that  nearly  broke  the  springs,  and,  pulling  the 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      83 

clothes  furiously  over  my  head,  left  my  bare  feet  showing,  at 
which  several  boys  laughed  contemptuously. 

Oh,  the  horrid  activity  of  my  wide-awake  brain!  I  couldn't 
sleep,  and  even  found  difficulty  in  keeping  my  eyes  shut. 
Once,  as  I  raised  my  weary  lids,  I  found  that  the  lights  had 
gone  out  since  I  last  opened  my  eyes.  And  my  headache, 
which  had  spread  to  the  back  of  my  neck,  was  getting  but  little 
relief  from  my  frequent  changes  of  position.  Oh,  the  horrible 
conglomeration  of  ideas  that  crowded  my  mind !  Recent  scenes 
and  conversations  entangled  themselves  in  one  another.  Ray 
did  it — Ray  did  it — my  darling  little  son — good-bye  and  God 
bless  you — there  has  been  no  bias,  prejudice,  or  bigotry,  but 
heaps  of  love  from  your  devoted  and  affectionate  mother — 
Ray  did  it — it's  good-bye  to  him,  I  suppose — good-bye  and  God 
bless  you 

''Good-night,  Ray,*' 

That  must  be  Doe's  voice;  it  came  from  reality  and  not 
from  dreams:  it  came  loudly  out  of  the  silence  of  the  dormi- 
tory and  not  from  the  chorus  of  conflicting  sentences  droning 
in  my  mind :  it  was  a  real  voice,  but  I  was  too  tired  and  too  far 
lost  in  stupor  to  answer  it :  good-night,  Ray — it's  good-bye  to 
him,  I  suppose — heaps  of  love — there  was  some  comfort  in  that 
— heaps  of  love  from  your  devoted  and  affectionate  mother. 
Ah !  when  shall  I  get  properly  off  to  sleep  ?  Let  me  turn  over 
on  to  my  other  side  and  put  my  hand  under  the  pillow — but  it 
was  young  Ray — Ray  did  it — Ray  did  it — how  that  detestable 
sentence  swells  till  it  packs  my  head! — and  I  must  be  asleep 
now,  for  I  see  Fillet  fitting  a  rope  across  the  door  of  an 
unknown  bedroom  wherein  I  am  confined  with  some  invisible 
Terror  which  drives  me  out  of  my  bed:  as  I  rush  into  the 
passage  the  rope  trips  me  up,  and  I  fall  forwards  but  am 
saved  from  injury  by  my  mother's  arms :  she  catches  me  in  the 
dark  and  says  something  about  my  darling  little  son.  And  she 
remonstrates  with  Fillet,  who  is  standing  by  that  dreadful 
bedroom  door,  till  he  merges  into  Stanley  listening  shame- 
facedly to  my  mother's  silvery,  chiding  laugh  and  assuring  her 
that  the  inquest  was  conducted  in  a  strictly  impartial  and 
disinterested  way.  He  changes  into  old  Doctor  Chapman,  who 
tells  her  that  Freedham  died  early  this  morning.  For  everything 
changes  in  the  dream  except  one  thing :  which  is  that  there  is  a 


84  Tell  England  book  i 

head  aching  somewhere;  now  it  is  my  own,  now  ^omeone 
else's.  I  draw  my  mother  along  a  passage  to  a  window  and 
explain  that  the  pencil-mark  on  the  glass  is  the  register  of  my 
height.  I  put  my  back  against  the  wall  to  let  her  see  that  I 
can  just  reach  the  mark,  when  lo!  it  is  a  great  distance  above 
me.  I  get  on  the  cold  stone  window-sill  that  I  may  reach  it, 
and  would  fall  a  thousand  feet,  only  something  in  my  breast 
goes  "click" — ^and  the  dream  was  gone.  With  my  return  to 
consciousness  came  the  knowledge  that  the  headache  had  been 
my  own  throughout. 

But  it  was  terribly  cold — and  what  a  draught!  Perhaps  it 
was  because  I  was  lying  so  dreadfully  straight,  whereas  I 
generally  lay  curled  up.  I  wanted  to  bring  my  knees  towards 
my  chest,  but  couldn't  move  my  legs.  How  cold  my  chest  was ! 
Why  had  the  bedclothes  fallen  away  and  left  it  exposed  to  this 
horrible  draught?  I  would  have  liked  to  pull  them  right  over 
my  head  that  I  might  get  warm  again,  but  I  was  too  tired  to 
make  the  effort.  At  last,  however,  the  cold  was  more  than  I 
could  bear.  So  I  put  out  both  hands  to  pull  up  the  blankets — 
but  could  find  none  anywhere.  God !  I  wasn't  in  bed  at  all,  but 
was  standing! 

The  horror  of  that  moment!  A  wild  heart  beat  lawlessly  at 
my  side.  One  more  touch  of  terror,  and  it  would  rebel  in 
utter  panic.  Why  was  the  dormitory  so  dark  ?  Why  had  the 
little  night-lamp  gone  out  ?  And  the  wooden  floors  were  stone- 
cold  like  the  window-sill  in  my  dream.  I  couldn't  see  if  my 
bed  were  close  to  me  or  far  away  because  of  the  impenetrable 
darkness ;  but  I  was  so  very,  very  tired,  and  my  eyes  were  so 
uncomfortably  warm  with  interrupted  sleep  that  I  must  try  to 
feel  my  way.  I  put  out  my  hand  and  touched  a  padlock. 
Like  a  flash,  it  came  with  all  its  terror  upon  me :  I  was  not  in 
the  dormitory  nor  anywhere  near  it,  but  right  away  in  a  cellar 
below  the  ground  where  there  were  some  old  lockers  and  play- 
boxes.  Flinging  myself  first  to  one  side  of  the  cellar  and  then 
to  the  other,  I  tore  at  the  walls  in  an  agonised  endeavour  to 
get  out.  The  last  thing  that  I  remember  was  shrieking  loudly 
and  feeling  a  moisture  rise  to  my  dry  lips  and  pass  down  my 
chin. 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      85 


§3 

I  awoke  with  a  dull  sense  of  impending  trouble  to  find  myself 
abed  in  the  Bramhall  sick-room,  into  which  long  shafts  of 
noonday  sunlight  were  streaming  from  behind  drawn  blinds. 
Looking  down  upon  me  was  Dr.  Chapman,  with  his  usual  white 
waistcoat  and  moist  cigar. 

"Ah  ha!''  he  said.  "Now,  Gem,  what  the  dooce  do  you 
think  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

I  replied  that  I  didn't  know,  and,  just  to  see  what  he  would 
say,  asked  him  why  he  called  me  "Gem." 

"Gem  ?  Whoever  called  you  'Gem'  ?  Did  I  ?  Yes,  of  course 
I  did — it's  short  for  Jeremiah." 

"The  gifted  old  liar!"  I  thought,  while  I  demanded  aloud 
his  reason  for  calling  me  "Jeremiah." 

"Why,  because  you  look  so  dam — miserable,  as  though  your 
eyes  would  gush  out  with  water." 

And  partly  at  this  idea,  partly  at  his  skill  in  getting  out  of  a 
difficulty,  Chappy  laughed  so  heartily  that  I  laughed  too,  only 
with  this  difference — that,  whereas  his  laugh  was  like  sounding 
brass,  mine  was  like  a  tinkling  cymbal.  Then  he  sat  down  by 
my  bed  and,  taking  my  wrist  in  one  hand,  pushed  up  the  sleeve 
of  my  pyjama  jacket  and  felt  my  smooth,  firm  forearm.  "Good 
enough,"  he  said,  and  proceeded  to  open  the  jacket  down  the 
front,  and  feel  my  chest  and  waist,  thumping  me  in  both  of 
them,  and  expecting  me  to  gurgle  thereat  like  a  sixpenny  toy. 

"You're  all  right,"  he  decided,  "except  that  you're  an  ass. 
Take  your  medical  man's  word  for  it— you're  an  ass.  My 
prescription  is  'Cease  to  be  lunatic  three  times  daily  and  after 
eating.'    My  fee  '11  be  a  guinea,  please." 

I  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  him  for  further  advice. 

"Confound  you !  Don't  look  at  me  with  those  Jeremiad  eyes. 
What  have  you  been  doing,  moping  indoors  for  the  last  ten 
days  instead  of  playing  in  the  fresh  air?" 

"I  wasn't  moping "  I  began  sullenly. 

"Now,  sulky — sulky!"  interrupted  Chappy. 

"I  wasn't  moping.  I  went  and  got  a  thousand  lines  from 
Mr.  Fillet " 


86  Tell  England 


BOOK    I 


"Yes,  I  know.  The  damned  old  stinker!"  said  Chappy, 
always  coarse  and  delightful. 

I  think  I  loved  him  for  those  words.  I  felt  that  my  allies 
were  swinging  into  line  for  the  great  war  against  Carpet 
Slippers.    There  was  Doe,  and  now  Chappy. 

"I  know  all  about  it/'  continued  the  new  ally,  "and  then  you 
filled  your  excitable  mind  with  thoughts  of  revenge — eh?" 

"Yes,"  I  admitted,  and  looked  down  at  the  clean  white 
sheet. 

"And  off  you  go  on  your  midnight  perambulations — the  cold 
wakes  you  up — and  there's  the  devil  to  pay — and  the  old  doctor 
to  pay !    One  guinea,  please.    And  now  Fm  off." 

"Oh,  don't  go,"  I  pleaded,  before  I  was  aware  of  saying  it. 
I  didn't  want  him  to  go,  for  he  was  an  entertaining  apothecary 
and  a  sympathetic  person,  before  whom  I  could  act  my  sullen- 
ness  and  aggrievement. 

"Don't  go?  Why  shouldn't  I?"  demanded  Chappy,  who 
seemed,  however,  touched  at  my  wanting  him.  "Now,  my  son, 
don't  you  run  away  with  the  idea  that  you're  of  the  slightest 
importance.  All  boys  are  the  most  useless,  burdensome,  and 
expensive  animals  in  the  world.  It  wouldn't  matter  twopence 
if  they  were  all  wiped  out  of  existence — there'd  be  a  sigh  of 
relief.  So  don't  think  it  interesting  that  you're  ill.  Because  it 
isn't.    And  you  ain't  ill.    So  good-bye." 

He  disappeared  into  the  matron's  room  next  door,  and  his 
hearty  voice  could  be  heard  haranguing  the  lady : 

"The  Gem's  got  a  healthy  young  constitution,  but  his  brain's 
a  ticklish  instrument.  His  corpore  is  as  sano  as  you  like,  but 
his  mens  is  rather  too  excitabilis.  Ah  ha !  Matron,  what  it  is 
to  move  in  this  classic  atmosphere !  Certain  sproutings  of  his 
imagination  must  be  repressed — push  'em  down,  Matron. 
Young  beggar,  I'd  sit  on  him  and  crush  him.  But  then,  it's  all 
the  fault  of  that  stuttering  old  barbarian  slave-driver,  Fillet." 

Here  the  matron  must  have  been  speaking,  for  I  heard  no 
more  till  Chappy  began  again : 

"He's  got  a  tough  little  breast,  fine  stomach-muscles,  and 
limbs  firm  and  round  enough  to  get  him  a  prize  in  a  Boy  Show. 
But  the  beast  is  spoiled  as  a  specimen  by  his  little  Vesuvius  of 
a  mind.  And  oh,  Matron,  I  Hed  to  him  like  an  under-secretary. 
I  said  that  boys  were  the  least  important  arrangements  in  the 


PART  I     The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      87 

world,  when,  dammit — I  mean,  God  bless  my  soul — ^they're  the 
most  important  things  in  Creation,  and  this  particular  hotbed 
of  the  vermin  has  some  of  the  finest  editions  of  them  all.  But 
never  let  the  little  blades  know  it — never  let  'em  know  it/' 

With  that  he  must  have  taken  his  leave,  for  quiet  assumed 
possession  of  everything.  I  settled  down  to  the  boredom  of 
the  afternoon,  letting  my  eyes  travel  up  and  down  the  stripes  of 
the  wall-paper.  Up  one  stripe  I  went,  down  the  next,  and  up 
the  third,  till  I  had  covered  the  whole  of  one  wall.  Then  I 
tossed  myself  on  to  my  other  side  with  an  audible  groan  that 
gave  me  but  little  relief,  since  there  was  no  one  to  hear.  The 
day  wore  on,  and  the  long  streaks  of  light  worked  their  way 
round  the  room,  grew  ruddier,  and  climbed  up  the  wall. 

Oh,  wearisome,  wearisome  afternoon!  I  began  to  sing 
quietly  to  myself  such  songs  as  I  knew:  "Rule,  Brittania," 
"God  save  the  King,"  and  "A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave.''  This 
I  gave  up  at  last,  and  thought  out  corking  replies  that  I  might 
have  made  to  the  prefects,  had  my  wit  been  readier. 

''^Ding-ding-ding !''  That  was  tea.  Would  Doe  be  any  less 
happy  when  he  saw  my  vacant  place,  and  wonder  if  I  were  very 
ill?  How  was  Penny  feeling,  who  had  lifted  up  his  heel  against 
me?  Might  he,  together  with  Stanley  and  his  colleagues,  think 
me  dying !  What  would  Stanley  and  the  prefects  do  to  Doe  for 
his  flagrant  breach  of  their  edict?  Perhaps  at  this  moment  he 
was  being  tried  by  the  great  Stanley  and  his  Tribunal.  Perhaps 
even  now  they  had  him  bent  over  a  chair  and  were  giving  him 
a  Prefects'  Whacking.  At  any  rate,  I  wished  he  would  walk  in 
his  sleep  or  do  something  that  would  bring  him  to  this  monot- 
onous sick-room.  Why  shouldn't  he?  Like  me,  he  had  been 
immured  indoors  for  ten  days;  like  me,  also,  he  had  reasons 
for  being  unhealthily  excited. 

"Ding-ding-ding!"  I  had  closed  my  eyes  when  this  bell 
sounded.  It  meant  Preparation,  so  it  must  be  getting  dark.  I 
would  open  my  eyes  and  see.  I  did  so,  and  saw  nothing  except 
darkness,  which  made  me  think  I  must  have  dozed.  The 
sudden  view  of  the  darkness  frightened  me,  for  I  remembered 
the  terror  of  the  preceding  night  and  that,  before  many  hours, 
the  whole  world  would  be  silenced  in  sleep,  while  I  might  be 
wandering  in  the  fearful  cellars.  At  the  thought  my  lips 
formed  the  words :    "O  God,  don't  make  me  wake  again  in  the 


88  Tell  England  book  i 

Old  Locker  Room.  O  God,  don't.  I  wish  I  had  somebody  to 
talk  to." 

As  I  mechanically  uttered  this  prayer,  I  began  to  feel  rather 
strongly  that,  if  I  were  going  to  ask  God  to  make  this  arrange- 
ment for  me,  I  ought  to  do  something  for  Him.  Clearly  I 
must  get  out  of  bed  and  say  my  prayers  properly.  So  I  stepped 
on  to  the  floor,  reeling  dizzily  from  my  enforced  recumbence, 
and  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  bed.  Falling  into  prayers  that  I 
knew  by  heart,  and  scarcely  heeding  what  I  was  saying,  I 
prayed  (as  my  mother  had  taught  me  to  do  when  I  was  a  little 
knickerbockered  boy)  for  the  whole  chain  of  governesses  who 
had  once  taken  charge  of  me.  '  I  enumerated  them  by  their 
nicknames :  "Tooby  and  Dinky  and  Soaky  and  Miss  Smith." 
Trapping  myself  in  this  mistake,  I  actually  blushed  as  I  knelt 
there.  I  realised  that  I  must  be  more  up  to  date.  So  I  prayed 
for  Penny,  Freedham,  Stanley,  Bickerton,  and  Banana-Skin, 
but  I  drew  up  abruptly  at  Carpet  Slippers.  I  couldn't  forgive 
him.  I  felt  I  ought  to,  but  I  couldn't.  There,  on  my  knees,  I 
thought  it  all  out ;  and  at  last  light  broke  upon  me.  To  forgive 
didn't  necessarily  mean  to  forgo  the  punishment.  Yes,  I 
would  forgive  him  and  pray  for  him,  but  his  punishment  would 
go  on  just  the  same. 

After  this  satisfactory  compromise  I  got  back  into  bed,  happy 
at  being  spiritually  solvent,  and  repeating:  "O  God,  don't 
make  me  wake  in  the  Old  Locker  Room ;  I  wish  I  had  someone 
to  talk  to." 

And  almost  immediately,  as  if  my  prayers  were  to  be 
answered,  I  heard  the  noise  of  feet  running  towards  my  door. 
It  opened,  and  Bickerton,  taking  no  notice  of  me,  walked  to  the 
middle  of  the  room,  struck  a  match,  and  lit  the  gas.  Returning 
quickly,  he  said  to  someone  else  who  was  approaching:  *'Oh, 
there  you  are.  I've  lit  the  gas.  Bring  him  and  get  him  to  bed. 
Put  him  beside  the  other  ass  for  company."  I  sat  up  in  my 
excitement,  and  with  a  thrill — first  of  elation  and  then  of 
dismay — saw  Stanley  enter,  bearing  a  boy,  who,  with  arms  and 
legs  hanging  limply  downwards,  was  apparently  lifeless:  his 
fair  head  was  a  contrast  with  Stanley's  dark  blue  sleeve  on 
which  it  rested,  and  his  brown  eyes,  wide  open,  were  shining  in 
the  gas  like  glass. 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      89 

§4 

In  committee  that  morning  Stanley  and  his  colleagues  had 
decided  that  Doe  had  deliberately  asked  for  a  Prefects'  Whack- 
ing, and  must  therefore  be  given  an  extra  severe  dose.  He 
should  be  summoned  to  judgment  after  games.  So,  just  as 
Doe,  who  was  standing  bare-chested  in  the  changing  room,  had 
pushed  his  head  into  his  vest,  a  voice,  shouting  to  him  by  name, 
obliged  him  to  withdraw  it  that  he  might  see  his  questioner.  It 
was  Pennybet,  acting  as  Nuncius  from  the  prefects. 

"You're  in  for  it,  Edgar  Doe,"  said  this  graceful  person, 
leisurely  taking  a  seat  and  watching  Doe  dress.  "I'm  Cardinal 
Pennybet,  papal  legate  from  His  Holiness  Stanley  the  Great. 
Bickerton  had  the  sauce  to  send  for  me  and  to  describe  me  as  a 
ringleader  in  all  your  abominations.  I  represented  to  him  that 
he  was  a  liar,  and  had  been  known  to  be  from  his  birth,  and 
that  he  probably  cheated  at  Bridge ;  and  he  told  me  to  jolly  well 
disprove  his  accusation  by  fetching  you  along.  I  explained 
they  were  making  beasts  of  themselves  over  this  Ray  busi- 
ness  " 

"It  would  have  been  more  sporting  of  you,"  said  Doe,  draw- 
ing on  his  trousers  and  thanking  Heaven  that  he  was  not  as 
other  men,  nor  even  as  this  Pennybet,  "if  you'd  stuck  by  Rupert 
and  defied  the  prefects." 

"My  dear  Gray  Doe,"  this  statesman  expounded,  "I  go  in  for 
nothing  that  I  can't  win.  And  if  you  want  to  win,  you  must 
always  make  sure  that  the  adverse  conditions  are  beatable.  I 
like  to  tame  circumstances  to  my  own  ends  (hear,  hear),  but  if 
they  aren't  tamable  I  let  them  alone.  So  now  you  know.  But 
about  these  prefects.  They've  got  their  cane  ready,  so  push 
your  shirt  well  down." 

Doe  studiously  refused  to  hurry  over  his  dressing,  and, 
having  assumed  his  jacket,  went  to  a  mirror  and  took  great 
pains  with  his  hair.  At  this  moment,  though  the  hand  which 
held  the  brush  trembled,  he  was  almost  happy:  for  he  was 
playing,  I  know,  at  being  a  French  Aristocrat  going  to  the 
guillotine  dressed  like  a  gentleman. 

"My  time  is  valuable,"  hinted  Penny.    "Still,  by  all  means 


90  Tell  England  book  i 

let  us  be  spotless.  .  .  .  That's  right.     Now  you  look  ripping. 
Come  along,  and  Til  stand  you  a  drink  when  it's  over." 

For  Penny,  the  callous  opportunist,  had  a  sort  of  patronising 
tenderness  for  his  two  acolytes. 

Doe  followed  his  conductor  in  a  silence  which  not  only  saved 
him  from  betraying  timidity  by  a  trembling  voice,  but  also 
suited  the  dignity  of  a  French  Aristocrat.  But  no — at  this 
point,  I  think,  he  was  a  Christian  martyr  walking  to  the  lions. 

'*Come,  my  lamb,  to  the  slaughter-house,''  said  Penny,  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  "and  don't  try  that  looking-defiant  game,  'cos  it 
won't  pay.  They're  not  taking  any  to-day,  thank  you.  That's 
their  tone.  .  .  .  There's  the  door.  Now  remember  not  to  say 
a  word  on  your  own  behalf,  for  with  these  bally  prefects  any- 
thing that  you  say  will  be  taken  down  in  evidence  against  you. 
.  .  .  Enter  the  prisoner,  gentlemen.  Sorry  to  be  so  long,  but 
we  had  to  make  ourselves  presentable.  Anything  else  in  the 
same  line  to-day?" 

Penny  paused  for  breath,  but  showed  no  desire  to  leave  the 
Prefects'  Room.  He  wanted  to  see  at  least  the  commencement 
of  judicial  proceedings.  They  looked  so  promising.  All  the 
Bramhall  prefects  were  there — Bickerton,  Kepple-Goddard, 
and  the  prosecuting  counsel,  Banana-Skin;  and  Stanley — 
Stanley  by  the  grace  of  God. 

"Bring  the  boy  Doe  in,"  ordered  Stanley,  "and  kick  that 
gas-bag  Pennybet  out.  If  he  were  a  year  younger  we'd  whack 
him  too." 

No  one  thought  himself  specifically  addressed,  and  Penny 
was  left  in  possession  of  the  floor.  But  Stanley's  curt  treatment 
rankled  in  his  heart.  So,  placing  his  feet  wide  apart  and  his 
hands  in  his  waistcoat  pockets,  he  respectfully  drew  attention 
to  the  opprobrious  epithet  "gas-bag"  which  had  been  employed 
in  requesting  him  to  retire  from  this  Chamber  of  Horrors,  and 
asked  that  the  offensive  remark  might  be  withdrawn. 

Stanley  scorned  communication  with  an  impertinent  junior* 
He  telegraphed  a  glance  to  Bickerton. 

"Turf  him  out,  Bicky." 

But  Penny,  perceiving  that  rough  treatment  would  ensue, 
gracefully  removed  himself  from  the  room,  so  timing  his 
motions  that  he  closed  the  door  from  outside  just  as  Bickerton 
from  within  arrived  at  the  handle.    Bickerton,  defeated,  swung 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      91 

round  upon  the  assembly  and  asked  if  he  should  follow  the 
fugitive. 

'That  kid*s  too  smart  to  live/'  said  Stanley,  more  generous 
than  his  peers.  "Let  him  be.  He'd  best  you  and  a  good  many 
more  of  us.  Besides,  it's  nearly  tea-time,  and  we've  got  to  get 
this  Doe  business  over." 

Bickerton  accordingly  took  up  his  place  on  the  fender  and 
considered  himself  empanelled  upon  the  jury.  Doe  stood  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  cheeks  very  flushed,  and  .his 
knees  slightly  shivering,  but  upheld  by  the  thought  of  his 
resemblance  to  Charles  I.  He  would  scorn  to  plead  before  this 
unjust  tribunal. 

"Now,  Edgar  Doe,"  began  Stanley,  and  his  voice  was  the 
signal  for  silence  in  the  court  and  for  all  eyes  to  be  concentrated 
on  the  prisoner.  "You've  made  a  little  fool  of  yourself.  You've 
openly  set  us  all  at  defiance  and,  no  doubt,  thought  yourself 
mighty  clever.  I  don't  think  you'd  have  been  so  ready  to  do  it 
if  we  hadn't  been  decent  and  had  you  in  here  sometimes.  But 
that's  beside  the  point,  only  I  may  say  in  passing  that  we  shan't 
have  you  here  any  more." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Doe.  "I  don't  want  to  come,  and  I 
wouldn't  come  if  you  asked  me." 

"Yes,  we  all  know  that.  It  was  the  obvious  thing  to  say,  Mr. 
Edgar  Gray  Doe.  Now  we  aren't  bullies,  and  perhaps,  had 
you  comforted  your  friend  on  the  Q.T.,  and  been  copped  doing 
so,  we'd  have  let  you  off.  But  it's  the  beastly  blatancy  of  it  all 
that  constitutes  the  gravity  of  your  offence  and  detracts  from 
its  value  as  a  self-denying  act  of  friendship.  Do  I  express 
myself  clearly  ?"  concluded  Stanley,  turning  to  his  colleagues. 

"Perfectly,"  said  Kepple-Goddard. 

"Well,  Doe,  did  you  grasp  the  drift  of  all  I  said?" 

"I  wasn't  listening." 

Stanley,  nonplussed,  looked  round  upon  the  jury.  Banana- 
Skin  muttered :  "The  little  devil !"  Bickerton  from  the  fender 
sighed:  ''St,  St.  Ah,  me!  to  think  how  we've  swept  and  gar- 
nished the  Gray  Doe !  *I  never  loved  a  dear  gazelle,  But  what 
it  turned  and  stung  me  well.' " 

"Dry  up,  Bicky,"  came  the  president's  rebuke,  "and  go  and 
turn  away  those  kids  who  are  making  a  row  with  their  feet  in 
the  corridor.    Remain  on  guard  out  there,  if  you  don't  mind. 


92  Tell  England  book  i 

It's  behaviour  like  Doe's  that  makes  these  kids  so  uppish. 
Thanks,  Bicky." 

There  was  a  sound  of  scurrying  feet  and  repressed  impish 
laughter,  as  Bickerton  opened  the  door  and  shut  it  behind  him. 

**Now,  Doe,"  resumed  Stanley,  "what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourself  before  we  leave  the  talking  and  get  to  business  ?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Doe,  "except  that  I'll  go  on  being  pally 
with  Ray  whatever  you  do,  you — you  set  of  cads !" 

"I  say" — Stanley  was  keeping  his  temper — "don't  play  the 
persecuted  hero  defying  the  world.     It  won't  wash  here." 

"I'm  not  playing  the  persecuted  hero,"  retorted  Doe  loudly, 
but  with  drowned  eyes.  "I  didn't  think  myself  mighty  clever — 
I " 

"I  thought  you  hadn't  been  listening,"  put  in  Banana-Skin 
in  a  quiet  and  torturing  way. 

"And  I  thought  you'd  nothing  to  say  for  yourself,"  added 
another. 

"Steady,  Banana,"  remonstrated  Stanley,  "don't  tease  the 
kid." 

"They're  not  teasing  me.  I  don't  care  what  they  say  or  what 
any  of  you  do." 

"What  a  little  liar  it  is !"  taunted  Banana-Skin,  "when  he's 
fairly  blubbing  there." 

"I'm  not!" 

"Fetch  the  cane  out,"  pursued  Banana-Skin,  unheeding. 
"It's  no  good  talking.    Get  him  over  that  chair,  Kepple." 

"You  shan't!"  said  Doe,  trembling  terribly. 

"By  jove!"  cried  Stanley,  jumping  up.  "He's  going  to  show 
fight,  is  he  ?  Pass  over  that  cane.  Now,  bend  over  that  chair, 
youngster." 

"I  won't." 

"Look  here,  you  unutterable  fool.  Here's  the  cane.  See  it? 
If  you  do  what  you're  told  you'll  get  a  stiff  whacking,  but  if 
you  don't,  by  God,  there's  no  saying  what  you'll  get." 

Doe  sprang  forward,  seized  the  cane,  smashed  it,  and  hurled 
the  pieces  into  their  midst.  "Now  then,  you  cads,  you  can't 
lick  me,  you  brutes,  you  fools !  Come  for  me — you  lot  of  great 
devils!"  He  roared  this  at  them,  and  the  last  words  were 
shouted  in  a  burst  of  hysterical  crying.     With  head  down  he 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      93 

charged  into  Stanley,  crashing  his  fist  on  the  senior  prefect's 
chin. 

The  outraged  prefects  lost  their  heads.  They  surrounded 
him  as  he  fought.  Above  the  turmoil  came  the  cries:  "Get 
hold  of  the  little  devil  !'*  "Pin  his  hands  to  his  sides !"  "He 
shan't  forget  this!"  "Trip  him  up,  if  you  can't  do  anything 
else!"  "It's  not  pluck,  it's  temper!"  "He's  dovi^n — he's  up 
again !"  "By  jove,  the  little  blackguard  is  going  to  beat  the  lot 
of  you !"  "Get  him  on  the  ground — don't  be  afraid  to  go  for 
him — he's  asked  for  it."  "That's  right — got  his  wrist?  Twist 
it !"  "Devil  take  it,  he's  wrenched  it  free  again."  "Get  out  of 
the  light— I'll  settle  him!"  "I've  got  him— no,  by  God,  I 
haven't!" 

Stanley,  the  first  to  recover  himself,  fell  away  from  the  rest. 

"Come  away,  you  fools.  There  are  ten  of  you.  Leave  him 
alone." 

"Can't  help  it!"  yelled  back  Banana-Skin.  "It's  his  fault. 
Let  him  have  it.    That's  right.    Get  him  against  the  wall." 

"Come  away,  you  fools !"  And  Stanley  began  to  pull  them 
off  and  fling  them  away  furiously.  Banana-Skin  had  a  shock 
when  he  found  himself  seized  and  hurled  against  the  opposite 
wall. 

It  had  been  well  had  Stanley  done  this  earlier,  for  Doe,  turn- 
ing very  white,  fell  forwards. 

"Heaven  save  us!"  exclaimed  Stanley,  as  white  as  Doe. 
**We've  done  it  now.  What  brutes  we  are!  Lock  the  door. 
He's  fainted.    By  heaven,  I  wish  this  had  never  happened !" 

Doe  had  not  fainted.  He  was  in  a  state  of  semi-unconscious- 
ness when  he  knew  where  he  was,  but  it  was  a  long  way  off — 
when  he  heard  all  that  was  said,  but  it  came  from  a  great 
distance — when  neither  his  position  nor  the  sound  of  voices  was 
of  any  interest  to  him,  and  his  only  desire  was  to  pass  into 
complete  unconsciousness,  which  would  bring  rest  and  sleep. 
He  felt  them  catch  hold  of  him,  one  by  the  armpits  and  another 
by  the  ankles,  and  knew  that  he  was  being  lifted  on  to  a  table. 

Then  the  voices  began  from  the  top  of  a  great  well,  while 
he  lay  at  the  bottom.  He  could  hear  what  they  said ;  but  why 
would  they  persist  in  talking  and  keeping  him  awake?  He 
was  indifferent  to  them:  they  were  like  voices  in  a  railway 
carriage  to  a  dozing  traveller. 


94  Tell  England  book  i 

"I  wouldn't  have  thought  he  had  so  much  in  him." 

"Oughtn't  we  to  undo  his  collar?" 

Then  the  remarks  evaporated  into  nonsense,  but  only  for  a 
space,  after  which  the  nonsense  solidified  into  sentences  again. 

"Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  send  for  Chappy  ?" 

"Wait  and  see  if  he'll  come  round.    His  colour's  returning." 

Doe  was  ascending  from  the  bottom  of  his  great  well:  the 
voices  were  becoming  distincter,  a  pain  in  his  head  and  body 
worse. 

"Yes,  he's  less  white.    Sprinkle  water  over  his  forehead." 

Doe  was  coming  up  and  must  have  reached  the  top,  for  it 
was  raining.  How  silly!  That  wasn't  rain,  but  the  water 
being  sprinkled  over  his  forehead.  How  hard  the  top  of  the 
well  was !  But  there — he  was  nowhere  near  a  well,  but  in  the 
Prefects'  Room,  lying  on  a  deal  table.  Or  was  he  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea? 

"He's  looking  better  now." 

Up  he  came  from  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  Above  him  he 
could  see  the  surface,  a  broad  expanse  of  pale  green,  through 
which  the  sun  was  trying  to  shine  and  succeeding  better  every 
second.  Though  all  the  while  conscious  that  his  eyes  were 
closed,  he  saw  dancing  on  the  green  rippling  veil,  beneath 
which  he  lay,  little  spots  of  colour  that  grew  in  number  till 
they  became  a  dazzling  kaleidoscope. 

"Doe,  are  you  all  right  now  ?" 

The  kaleidoscope  was  gone ;  and  the  top  of  the  sea  was  above 
him,  getting  steadily  closer  and  brighter.  Good — he  was  above 
the  surface  now,  and  the  water  seemed  out  of  his  ears,  so  that 
he  heard  with  perfect  clearness  the  voice  of  Stanley  saying: 

"That's  right — you're  round  again." 

Though  his  eyes  were  still  shut  he  felt  he  must  be  awake, 
because  the  Prefects'  Room  with  its  furniture  had  crowded  his 
mental  vision.  So  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  there,  sure  enough, 
were  the  prefects'  chairs  and  cupboards ;  they  seemed,  however, 
to  have  moved  with  a  jump  from  the  positions  they  had  occu- 
pied in  his  mental  picture. 

If  you  wake  and  see  faces  looking  down  on  you,  the  natural 
thing  to  do  is  to  smile  round  upon  them  all ;  and  this  Doe  did, 
so  that  his  persecutors  were  touched,  and  Stanley  said : 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      95 

"How  are  you  feeling  now,  kid?  We're  all  of  us  beastly 
sorry." 

"And  Fm  beastly  sorry  if  I  cheeked  you/' 

"Well,  never  mind  about  that ;  but  tell  us  if  you're  feeling 
putrid,  because  then  we'll  tell  old  Dr.  Chapman  and  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  My  colleagues  and  I  are  determined  to  do 
the  right  thing." 

"Oh,  Fm  all  right.    Don't  say  anything  to  anyone." 

Ding-ding-ding ! 

"Are  you  fit  for  walking  in  to  tea  ?"  asked  Stanley. 

'^Rather !    I'm  quite  the  thing  now.    Thanks  awfully." 

So  Doe,  sustained  by  a  pride  in  his  determination  to  conceal 
what  had  happened  and  screen  the  prefects,  walked  with  rack- 
ing head  and  aching  limbs  into  tea,  where  he  made  a  show  of 
eating  and  drinking,  though  periodically  the  room  went  spin- 
ning round  him. 

Tea  over,  he  staggered  into  the  Preparation  room  and  sat  at 
hi^  desk  with  his  brows  on  his  hand  and  his  eyes  on  his  book. 
The  print  danced  before  his  gaze:  letter  rushed  into  letter, 
word  merged  mistily  into  word,  line  into  line,  till  all  was  a  grey 
blur.  A  blink  of  the  eyes — an  effort  of  the  will — a  sort  of 
"squad,  shun !"  to  the  type  before  him — and  the  words  jumped 
back  into  their  places,  letters  separated  from  their  entangle- 
ment and  stood  like  soldiers  at  spruce  attention.  A  relaxing  of 
the  effort — and  dismiss!  helter-skelter,  pell-mell  went  letter, 
word,  and  line.  It  was  all  a  blur  again.  Once  more  he  made 
the  necessary  exercise  of  his  will  and  was  able  to  read  a  line  or 
two ;  but,  if  the  mistiness  were  not  to  come  before  his  eyes,  the 
effort  had  to  be  sustained,  and  that  made  his  head  feel  very 
heavy.  It  proved  too  much  for  him ;  the  will  to  do  it  expired, 
and  away  went  the  letters  into  the  fog.  Some  boys  whispered 
that  he  was  sighing  for  his  friend  Ray ;  others  teased  him  by 
muttering :  "Diddums  get  whacked  by  the  prefects  ?  Diddums 
get  a  leathering  ?" 

Poor  Doe!  He  must  have  been  strongly  tempted  to  retort: 
"I  wasn't  whacked,  so  sucks !"  and  to  describe  that  picturesque 
incident  when  he  smashed  the  prefects'  cane,  for  his  milk  was 
the  praise  of  men.  But  he  had  to  choose  whether,  by  a  little 
honourable  bragging,  he  should  gratify  his  desire  for  glory,  or 
by  a  martyr's  silence  he  should  give  himself  the  satisfaction  of 


96  Tell  England  book  i 

playing  a  fine  hero.  The  latter  was  the  stronger  motive.  He 
kept  silence,  and  only  hoped  that  his  valorous  deeds  would 
leak  out. 

Preparation  was  nearly  over  when  there  came  one  of  those 
heart-stopping  crashes  which  all  who  hear  know  to  be  the  total 
•collapse  of  a  human  being.  A  faint— aye,  and  a  faint  in  the 
first  degree,  when  life  goes  out  like  a  candle. 

"Who's  that?  What's  that?"  cried  the  master-in-charge, 
quickly  rising. 

"It's  Doe,  sir.     He's  fainted." 

"Oh,  ah,  I  see,"  said  he,  leaving  his  desk  and  hastening  to 
the  spot.  "Sit  down,  all  of  you.  There's  nothing  very  extraor- 
dinary in  a  boy  fainting.  Here,  Stanley,  pick  him  up  and  take 
him  to  the  sick-room;  and,  Bickerton,  go  with  him.  The  rest 
of  you  get  on  with  your  work." 

Thereafter  Pennybet — or,  at  least,  so  he  assured  us — ex- 
pended his  spare  time  in  knocking  his  head  against  walls  and 
holding  his  breath  in  the  hope  that  he,  too,  might  faint  and  have 
a  restful  holiday  in  the  sick-room. 

"For,"  said  he,  "where  Doe  and  Ray  are,  there  should  Me  be 
also." 


§5 

"It's  funny  that  we  do  everything  together,"  said  Doe  that 
same  evening,  as  we  lay  in  our  beds  and  watched  each  other's 
eyes  in  the  light  of  the  turned-down  gas.  "First  we're  twins; 
then  we  get  whacked  together;  then  we  both  get  rowed  by 
prefects ;  and  I  do  a  faint  and  you  do  a  sort  of  fit.  .  .  .  But,  I 
say,  Rupert,  look  here;  I  want  to  ask  you  something:  will 
people  think  I  was  a  fool  in  everything  I  did,  or  will  they  think 
— well,  the  other  thing?  I  mean,  let's  put  it  Uke  this — what 
would  Radley  think?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  I,  not  very  helpfully. 

"I  s'pose  he's  heard  all  about  it.  I  hope  he  has — ^at  least,  I 
mean,  I'd  like  him  to  think  I  stuck  by  you.  Only,  when  the 
prefects  were  talking  about  defiance,  it  struck  me  that  Radley 
might  call  it  'insubordination.'  " 


PART  I    The  Prefects  Go  Over  to  the  Enemy      97 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  he  proceeded:  "I  wonder  if. 
he'll  be  sorry  when  he  hears  we  are  both  laid  up." 

"Who?" 

"Why,  Radley,  of  course." 

"Mr.  Radley,"  said  a  voice,  "if  you  please." 

Radley,  who  had  walked  softly  lest  the  invalids  should  be 
wakened  from  sleep,  was  standing  in  the  room  and  looking  at 
us  in  the  glimmer.  We  were  very  surprised,  and  Doe*s  blushes 
at  being  caught  were  only  exceeded  by  the  pleasure-sparkling 
of  his  eyes. 

Radley  approached  my  bed  and  placed  the  clothes  carefully 
over  my  chest.  I  didn't  know  whether  to  thank  him  for  this, 
and  only  smiled  and  reddened.  And  after  he  had  done  the 
same  for  Doe  he  sat  at  the  foot  of  his  bed. 

"When  the  world  turns  against  you,  always  go  sick,"  said  he,, 
smiling.  "It's  an  excellent  rule  for  changing  ill-will  to  sym- 
pathy. If  youVe  sent  to  Coventry,  go  straight  to  bed  there. 
Oh,  you're  a  subtle  pair,  aren't  you  ?" 

We  were  both  too  shy  to  answer. 

"Well,  Ray,  I've  come  to  tell  you  to  sleep  with  an  easy  mind. 
The  Head  Master  is  satisfied  that,  if  you  were  conducting 
operations  in  Mr.  Fillet's  room,  you  were  not  conscious  of  it. 
It  was  Dr.  Chapman  who  worked  all  this  for  you.  He  threat- 
ened to  go  on  strike  if  any  other  conclusion  were  come  to.  He 
asked  the  Head  whether  he'd  ever  dreamt  he  was  doing  most 
impossible  things.  The  Head  said  'Yes,'  and  the  doctor  replied 
triumphantly:  *Well,  don't  let  your  brain  gtt  as  excited  as  a 
child's,  or,  maybe,  if  you're  feverish  and  run  down,  you'll  go 
and  do  them.'  He  even  suggested  that  possibly  it  was  not  you 
but  the  Head  who  had  committed  the  crime.  He  asked  him  if 
he  could  imagine  *a  silly  and  excitable  kid'  (which  is  an  excel- 
lent description  of  Ray)  dreaming  that  he  had  done  what 
actually  was  done.  .  .  .  The  Head  was  incredulous  at  first, 
but  the  doctor  talked  so  learnedly  about  the  Subliminal  Con- 
sciousness and  Alternating  Personalities  that  the  Head,  if  only 
for  fear  of  getting  out  of  his  depth,  began  to  yield.  I  drove 
home  the  advantage  by  saying  that  I  believed  you  didn't  gen- 
erally lie — which  was  true,  wasn't  it?" 

"Good  Lord,  no !"  I  replied. 

"Well,  it  will  be  some  day."    Radley  rose  and  strolled  to  the 


98  Tell  England  book  i 

door.  "Yes,  there's  been  a  slump  in  Rupert  Ray  recently,  but 
Tm  afraid  there'll  be  a  boom  in  him  when  he  comes  back  to 
work,  and  he'll  get  too  big  for  his  boots.  It's  a  pity.  Good- 
night." 

And  though  Stanley,  as  we  learnt  later,  had  manfully  re- 
vealed the  full  story  of  Doe's  sufferings  at  the  hands  of  the 
prefects,  Radley  walked  away  without  giving  the  young  hero 
one  word  of  admiration.  And  as  the  door  shut  Doe  turned 
round  in  his  bed,  so  that  his  face  was  away  from  me,  and 
maintained  a  wonderful  silence. 


CHAPTER  V 

CHEATING 
§    I 

TIME  carried  us  a  year  nearer  the  shadow  of  the  Great  War. 
It  brought  us  to  our  fourteenth  year,  at  which  period 
Doe's  mysterious  intrigue  with  Freedham  still  awaited  solution, 
and  my  Armageddon  with  Fillet  still  languished  in  a  sort  of 
trench-warfare. 

It  was  now  that  our  abominable  form  took  to  cheating  once 
a  week  in  Fillet's  class-room.  A  Roman  History  lesson  left 
invitingly  open  the  opportunity  to  do  so.  For  Fillet's  method 
of  examining  our  acquaintance  with  the  chapter  he  had  set  to 
be  learnt  in  Preparation  was  invariably  the  same.  He  asked 
twenty  questions,  whose  answers  we  had  to  write  on  paper. 
He  would  then  tell  us  the  answers  and  allow  us  to  correct  our 
own  work.    After  this  he  would  take  down  our  marks. 

Now,  our  form  had  been  organised  by  the  all-powerful 
statesman,  Pennybet,  who  had  lately  been  reading  the  Progres- 
sive Papers,  into  a  Trade  Union,  of  which  the  President  was 
Mr.  Archibald  Pennybet.  He  had  decided  (as  it  is  the  business 
of  all  trade  unions  to  decide)  that  we  were  worked  too  hard. 
We  must  organise  to  effect  an  improvement  in  the  conditions  of 
living.  To  demand  from  the  Head  Master  an  instant  reduction 
in  the  hours  of  labour  didn't  seem  feasible  to  our  union  of 
twenty  members,  but  it  would  be  quite  easy  by  a  co-operative 
effort  to  modify  the  extent  of  our  Preparation.  At  a  mass- 
meeting  of  the  workers  Penny  outlined  his  scheme — Penny 
loved  scheming,  moving  forces,  and  holding  their  reins. 

It  was  a  marvellous  scheme.  We  were  to  leave  undone  our 
Preparation  for  the  Roman  History  lesson,  and,  when  Fillet 
told  us  the  answers,  we  were  to  write  them  down  and  credit 
ourselves  with  the  marks.    "It's  not  cheating,"  explained  our 

99 


100  Tell  England  book  i 

leader  in  his  speech  (and  we  were  all  very  glad^  I  think,  to  hear 
that  it  wasn't  cheating),  "because  it's  not  an  effort  to  take  an 
unfair  advantage  of  each  other.  It's  just  a  cordial  understand- 
ing, by  which  we  all  lessen  one  another's  burdens. 

*1  and  my  executive,"  continued  Penny,  "have  all  the  details 
worked  out  to  a  nicety.  Here  is  a  table  for  the  whole  term, 
showing  how  many  marks  each  worker  will  give  up  week  by 
week.  It  is  so  graduated  that  the  clever  fellows  will  end  up  at 
the  top,  and  those  who  would  naturally  slack  will  end  up  at  the 
bottom.  My  executive  has  decided  that  Doe  is  about  the  brain- 
iest, so  he  comes  out  first" — blushes  from  Doe — "and  I  myself 
am  willing  to  stand  at  the  bottom." 

By  this  revelation  of  astonishing  magnanimity  Penny  came 
out  of  the  transaction,  as  he  did  out  of  most  things  that  he  put 
his  hand  to,  with  nothing  but  credit. 

For  half  a  term  this  comfortable  scheme  ran  as  merrily  as  a 
stream  down  hill.  And  then  a  strange  thing  happened  to  me.  I 
was  talking  one  afternoon  to  Penny  on  the  absurdities  of  the 
Solar  System,  when  I  became  conscious  that  my  mind  had 
closed  upon  seven  words :  "That  Rupert,  the  best  of  the  lot." 

"That  Rupert,  the  best  of  the  lot."  What  on  earth  had 
resuscitated  those  words  ?  I  politely  bowed  them  out  and  con- 
tinued my  conversation.  But  the  phrase  had  entered  like  a 
bailiff  into  possession  of  my  mind.  Even  as  I  put  it  from  me, 
Relieving  it  would  be  lost  in  the  flow  of  an  absorbing  conversa- 
tion, I  knew  that  there  had  appeared  upon  the  horizon  a  cloud 
tio  bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 

"That  Rupert,  the  best  of  the  lot."  The  words,  as  first  told 
to  me  by  my  mother,  had  been  the  dying  words  of  my  grand- 
father. Colonel  Rupert  Ray,  with  which  he  asked  repeatedly 
for  his  dead  son,  my  father.  So  the  words  were  uttered  by  the 
first  Rupert  Ray,  applied  to  the  second,  and  recalled  by  the 
third  at  a  most  inopportune  moment.  And  the  third  would 
have  bowed  them  out.  Why?  Because  he  was  a  cheat ?  No — 
let  us  not  be  ridiculous — ^because  he  was  in  the  midst  of  an 
important  conversation. 

I  pretended  to  listen  to  Penny,  but  really  I  was  reasoning 
something  else.  I  was  admitting  that,  now  that  this  little 
phrase  had  popped  up  through  some  trap-door  of  my  mind, 
my  conscience,  long  dormant  on  the  cheating  theme,  would 


PART  I  Cheating  101 

have  to  be  talked  round  again.  And,  as  something  H'ke  sus- 
pense set  in,  I  was  anxious  to  join  issue  at  once. 

I  left  Penny  abruptly  and  retired  to  a  window  (as  you  will 
have  observed  it  was  my  fashion  to  do),  where  I  leant  upon  the 
sill  and  prepared  to  argue  out  the  problem. 

Our  co-operative  effort  to  avoid  preparing  our  lesson,  was  it 
wrong?  Yes.  In  spite  of  the  old  sophistry  I  knew  it  to  be  so. 
But  what  attitude  should  one  adopt?  To  refuse  publicly  to 
have  any  part  in  the  system  would  seem  like  mock-heroics. 
The  only  course  open  was  to  learn  the  work  and  earn  the 
marks.  Inevitably  I  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  which  I 
dreaded.  To  learn  the  work  seemed  a  task  surprisingly  diffi- 
cult and  menacing  after  half-a-term's  freedom.  I  hugged  that 
freedom.  I  wished  my  calm  acquiescence  in  the  system  had 
not  been  ruffled. 

To  learn  the  work — it  was  a  little  thing  surely:  to  learn  it 
unseen  and  alone,  while  other  boys  went  free  of  the  labour,  and 
gave  themselves  the  marks,  notwithstanding.  But  no,  I  could 
no  more  persuade  myself  that  it  was  a  little  thing  than  I  could 
believe  that  any  other  course  was  the  right  one.  I  felt  it  was 
big — too  big  for  me. 

Then  the  old  thought,  probably  not  an  hour  younger  than  sin 
itself,  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of  my  indecision:  I  would 
go  on  as  I  was  a  little  while  longer — till  the  end  of  the  term — 
and  then  begin  with  a  clean  sheet.  There  was  much  to  be  said 
in  favour  of  this :  for  see,  if  I  were  to  do  the  thing  thoroughly 
this  term,  I  ought  to  forgo  all  the  marks  that  I  had  already 
come  by  dishonestly.  To  do  that  was  impossible.  The  con- 
fession involved  would  court  expulsion.  Expulsion!  As  the 
word  occurred  to  me,  I  realised  the  enormity  of  my  offence. 
How  could  I  go  on  with  that  which,  if  detected,  would  mean 
expulsion?  To  answer  this  question  I  went  the  whole  dreary 
round  of  reasoning  once  more  and  arrived  at  the  conviction 
that  the  straight  action  was  incumbent  upon  me;  which  con- 
viction I  hastened  to  explain  away  with  the  same  dull  casuistry. 
Sick  and  weary,  I  left  the  window-sill  and  ceased  to  think  any 
more.  My  conscience  had  given  battle  to  evil  and  neither  lost 
nor  won.  Indecisive  as  the  issue  was,  I  knew  in  my  heart  of 
hearts  that  it  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  defeat. 

Later  on,  I  wrote  to  my  mother  quite  an  effective  analysis  of 


102  Tell  England  book  i 

this  spiritual  difficulty :  and  I  wrote  it,  so  she  loves  to  say,  on  a 
postcard,  and  signed  it  ''yours  truly,  Rupert  Ray."  Her  reply 
I  could  not  expect  till  Wednesday  morning,  the  morning  of  the 
lesson.  Of  that  I  was  glad.  For  to  this  extent  I  had  tem- 
porised :  I  would  wait  till  I  heard  from  her  before  attempting 
to  learn  the  work.  If  necessary,  I  could  cram  it  up  on  Wednes- 
day morning.  And  with  this  settlement  I  was  satisfied  in  a 
sickly  way. 


§2 

While  Tuesday  is  passing  in  silence  and  inaction,  and  the 
issue  of  this  crisis  is  in  the  bag  of  the  postman,  let  me  tell  you 
something  of  my  relations  with  my  mother.  Her  love  for  me,  I 
have  said,  was  of  the  extravagant  kind.  It  was  ever  and 
actively  present.  Though  she  discharged  her  social  duties  with 
a  peculiar  grace,  yet  I  am  certain  that  the  thought  she  bestowed 
on  them  was  an  intruder  amongst  her  thoughts  of  me.  My 
figure  was  present  to  her  in  the  drawing-room,  the  ball-room, 
or  the  theatre. 

I  fear  I  was  not  demonstrative  in  my  affection  for  her. 
Perhaps,  when  we  sat  alone  at  dinner  on  holiday  evenings,  and 
her  dress  was  one  that  left  her  arms  bare,  I  would  think  that 
the  softness  of  the  limbs  was  such  as  to  make  one  wish  to  touch 
them;  and  I  would  stroke  them;  or,  when  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  table,  I  would  rest  my  own  hot  palm  upon  it.  But  I 
am  certain  that  it  was  not  till  our  stories  marched  into  the 
shadow  of  the  Great  War  that  I  became  at  all  demonstrative. 

Enough  of  that,  then — the  postman's  feet  are  on  the  steps  of 
Bramhall  House.  May  I  just  ask  you  to  think  of  my  mother 
as  a  very  gracious  lady,  gracious  in  form  and  feature  and 
character? 


§3 

When  breakfast  was  over  on  Wednesday  morning,  I  repaired 
to  the  Steward's  Room,  where  letters  had  to  be  sought.  I  was 
attacked  by  a  feverish  nervousness,  which  increased  as  I  passed 
other  boys  returning  with  letters  in  their  hands.     Anxiety 


PART  I  Cheating  103 

seemed  to  be  a  physical  thing  deflating  my  breast  and  loins. 
My  heart,  too,  was  affected  when  I  asked  the  Steward  with 
feigned  unconcern  if  there  were  any  letters  for  Ray.  It  beat 
rapidly  as  I  awaited  the  reply. 

None.  I  was  stupefied :  but  soon  stupefaction  became  anger ; 
anger  hardened  into  sulkiness;  and,  as  more  sinister  feelings 
grew,  sulkiness  lost  itself  in  guilty  belief.  Now  I  knew  what 
course  I  would  take — I  would  go  on  cheating. 

I  turned  to  go  out.  Since  that  afternoon  when  the  choice 
between  good  and  evil  came  so  plainly  before  me,  I  had  been 
dilly-dallying  at  the  spot  where  the  two  ways  met.  The  more 
I  hesitated,  the  greater  had  become  the  desire  to  take  the  easier 
road.  And  now  in  open  rebellion  against  my  scruples  I  stepped 
firmly  upon  it.  My  reasoning  was  played  out,  and,  as  I  walked 
back  along  the  corridor,  I  felt  like  one  released  from  irksome 
fetters.  Oh,  it  was  good  to  be  free !  At  the  same  time,  how- 
ever, with  the  obstinacy  of  one  who  seeks  to  justify  himself,  I 
muttered :  "She  might  have  written,  I  think,  she  might  have 
written." 

Then  a  step  sounded  behind  me,  a  hand  touched  my  shoulder, 
so  that  my  heart  jumped  like  a  startled  frog,  and  Radley  said : 

''Come  and  have  a  talk  with  me  a  minute/' 


§4 

My  mother  had  written,  but  not  to  her  son.    The  postman, 
who  disappointed  me,  brought  a  graceful  note  to  Radley : 

"I  am  most  sorry  for  this  trespass  upon  your  time,  and 
yet  I  have  little  hesitation  in  asking  your  help  in  a  matter 
that  concerns  my  son.  Rupert,  in  his  talks  during  the  holi- 
days, so  often  mentions  your  name,  that  it  is  not  difficult  to 
see  that  he  owes  you  a  good  deal.  Although  he  is  too 
reserved  to  say  so,  I  fancy  he  is  quite  devoted  to  you.  His 
postcard,  which  I  enclose,  will  explain  all. 

**May  I  take  this  opportunity  of  expressing  my  thanks,  and 
of  saying  how  grateful  his  father  would  have  been  for  all 
that  you  are  doing  for  our  son?*' 


104  Tell  England  book  i 

Radley,  when  we  reached  the  privacy  of  his  room,  took  up 
his  favourite  position  of  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 
Before  him  stood  I,  all  reasoning  suspended. 

**Well,  how's  the  cheating  going  on  ?"  he  asked. 

"Whatch r 

"Stop!  Don't  say  'What  cheating?'  because  that  would  be 
acting  a  lie.  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  wait  a  whole 
minute  before  you  answer  me.  We'll  collect  our  thoughts  and 
think  whether  we'll  act  straightly  or  crookedly."  He  took  his 
watch  off  his  chain  and  placed  it  upon  the  table  beside  him. 
"Right,  we're  off." 

As  the  seconds  sped  by  I  tried  to  find  some  excuses.  But, 
bewildered  and  sick,  I  could  only  wonder  how  he  came  to  know 
of  it  all.  I  had  found  no  answer  when  I  saw  him  replacing  his 
watch  on  his  chain. 

"Well,  Ray,  how's  the  cheating  going  on?" 

"I  didn't  think  it  exactly  cheating." 

"Ray,  don't."  Radley  protruded  and  withdrew  his  lower  jaw 
with  irritation.  "You  know  it  was  cheating.  If  you  didn't, 
why  did  you  know  what  I  was  referring  to  ?  Well,  we'll  have 
another  sixty  seconds'  interval.  We  must  have  time  to  think, 
or  else  we  lie." 

Out  came  the  watch  again.  The  pantomime  of  waiting  in 
silence  and  of  replacing  the  watch  was  re-enacted.  Then 
Radley,  half  smiling,  as  if  he  knew  the  worst  was  over,  took  up 
his  question  once  more. 

"Well,  how's  the  cheating  going  on  ?" 

Since  I  was  not  allowed  to  prevaricate,  all  that  remained  for 
me  to  do  was  to  return  no  reply.  But  there  was  stubbornness 
in  my  silence ;  I  should  have  liked  to  say  pettishly :  "But  you 
won't  let  me  explain,  you  won't  let  me  explain." 

And  then — quickly — Radley  grasped  me  by  the  elbow  and 
looked  straight  down  at  me.  For  a  second  I  resisted  and  tried 
to  pull  the  elbow  away.  His  grip,  however,  was  too  strong,  and 
I  yielded. 

I  know  now  that  his  feeling  for  all  the  boys,  as  he  gazed 
down  upon  them  from  his  splendid  height,  was  love — a  strong, 
active  love.  We  were  young,  human  things,  of  soft  features 
gradually  becoming  firmer  as  of  shallow  characters  gradually 
deepening.     And  he  longed  to  be  in  it  all — at  work  in  the 


PART  I  Cheating  105 

deepening.  We  were  his  hobby.  I  have  met  many  such  lovers 
of  youth.    Indeed,  I  think  this  is  a  book  about  them. 

And,  as  I  am  certain  of  his  feeHngs  for  us  all,  so  am  I  certain 
of  his  feelings  for  myself.  Those  who  were  most  pliant  to  his 
touch  loomed,  of  course,  largest  in  his  thoughts:  and  my 
mother's  letter,  giving  him  the  proof  of  my  affection,  which, 
since  it  was  less  obtrusive  than  Doe's,  had  been  probably  less 
clear  to  him,  brought  me  in  the  foreground  of  his  view.  Be  it 
right  or  wrong,  this  man  with  the  hard  chin  and  kind  eyes  had 
his  favourites ;  and  I  date  from  this  moment  my  usurping  of 
Doe's  position  as  Radley's  foremost  favourite.  The  way  in 
which  he  took  hold  of  my  elbow,  my  willing  submission  of  the 
army  to  his  grasp  told  me  that  something  was  given  by  him 
and  taken  by  me.  And  my  eyes,  as  was  to  be  expected  of  them, 
became  suddenly  moist  and  luminous. 

"Time's  going,"  he  said,  "and  this  Roman  History  lesson  is 
upon  us.    Have  you  learnt  it?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  the  issue  is  simple:  either  you  continue  cheating,  or 
you  give  up  no  marks.     Shall  you  cheat  any  more?" 

"N-no,  sir." 

'Good,  then  you  give  up  no  marks." 

"All  right,  sir." 

"Well,  hurry  away.  And  if,  when  the  big  moment  comes, 
you  succeed  in  doing  what's  right,  come  and  see  me  again." 


§5 

The  big  moment  came.  Fillet  opened  his  mark-book  and 
read  the  names  in  the  order  of  last  term's  examination-list, 
which  brought  Doe's  name  first.  Doe  was  mending  a  nib  when 
his  name  was  called,  and,  without  raising  his  head,  replied 
"loo,  sir." 

Other  names  followed,  and  the  boys  gave  up  the  marks 
allotted  them  by  Penny's  system.    Then  came  mine. 

"Ray?" 

For  a  second  my  voice  or  will  failed  me,  so  I  pretended  I  had 
not  heard,  and  let  him  ask  again. 

"Ray?" 


106  Tell  England  book  i 

''None,  sir" 

Every  boy  turned  towards  me,  and  my  cheeks  burned  to 
maroon.  I  caught  mutters  of  "Well,  Tm  hanged !"  "Ye  gods !" 
"Good-night !'' 

"Wh-what  did  you  say  ?"  stuttered  Carpet  Slippers. 

I  was  irritated  and  nervous  and  replied  rather  too  loudly: 

''None,  sir'' 

"None?    Why  none?" 

"I  didn't  learn  it/' 

The  mutterings  began  again:  "Oh,  I  say,  stow  it!"  "Lie 
down." 

"You  didn't  learn  it?  St-stand  up  when  I  question  you. 
Wh-why  didn't  you  learn  it?" 

Here  I  failed.  I  had  answered  the  first  two  questions  truth- 
fully because  I  had  reasoned  about  them.  The  third  took  me 
unawares.  And,  such  is  the  result  of  trifling  with  conscience,  I 
had  lost  the  knack  of  doing  right  without  premeditation.  "We 
must  have  time  to  think,"  Radley  had  said  bitterly,  "or  else  we 
lie."    Obliged  to  answer  without  delay,  I  lied. 

"I  hadn't  time,  sir." 

No  sooner  had  I  uttered  the  words  than  the  dull  and  sicken- 
ing sense  of  failure  came  over  me.  In  spite  of  all — in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  I  had  dealt  honourably  with  the  first  two  questions 
— I  had  ended  by  lying.  I  sat  down  slowly,  and  stared  vacantly 
in  front  of  me.  The  big  moment  had  come  and  passed,  and  I 
had  missed  it.  I  couldn't  believe  it.  I  had  been  determined, 
and  yet  I  had  failed.  My  breath  becartie  tremulous,  and  across 
my  brows  went  the  sudden  invasion  of  a  headache. 

Little  it  matters  what  Fillet  said.  Destiny  ordains  for  our 
correction  that  there  shall  be  some  people  before  whom  we  shall 
always  appear  at  our  worst.  Fillet  occupied  that  place  in  my 
schooldays. 

Little  would  it  matter,  either,  what  my  fellow  trade- 
unionists  thought  of  this  black-leg  in  the  camp,  were  it  not  for 
the  remarkable  deed  of  Pennybet.  He,  I  am  convinced,  felt 
that  he  must  rise  to  the  occasion.  There  were  few  things  he 
liked  better  than  rising  to  an  occasion.  Here  was  an  oppor- 
tunity for  a  coup  d'etat.  Here,  praise  the  gods,  were  circum- 
stances to  be  tamed.    So  he  at  once  threw  all  his  weight  on  my 


PART    I 


Cheating  107 


side,  knowing  full  well  that  he  had  but  to  do  that  to  secure  me 
from  all  persecution  or  contempt. 

"P-pennybet?" 

'*Oh — er — none,  sir/' 

"None  ?    Another  boy  with  none  ?    Why  none  ?" 

Penny  admired  the  nails  on  his  right  hand  and  then  said : 

"I  didn't  exactly  learn  it." 

'*Oh,  indeed  ?    And  wh-why,  pray  ?" 

As  though  deploring  such  tactless  persistency,  Penny  pursed 
up  his  mouth,  laid  his  head  on  one  side,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  held  his  peace. 

**Had  you,  too,  no  time  ?" 

"Well,  not  a  great  deal,  sir." 

There  were  some  titters,  and  Penny  looked  deprecatingly  in 
the  direction  whence  they  came.  Fillet  passed  judgment  so 
severe  that  Penny  made  a  shocking  grimace  and  said :  "Thank 
you,  sir.  It  shall  not  occur  again,"  which,  to  be  sure,  might 
have  meant  anything. 

I  think  the  characters  of  both  my  friends  stood  out,  clearly 
defined,  in  the  words  with  which  they  referred  to  this  incident 
afterwards.  Doe  was  generous  in  his  praise.  "Golly,"  he  said, 
"I  wish  I  could  feel  I  had  done  it  as  you  can  now.  I  cursed 
my  luck  that  my  name  didn't  come  after  yours,  so  that  I  could 
have  stood  by  you,  as  Penny  did.  I  could  have  throttled  him 
with  jealousy.  Do  you  know,  I  almost  wished  the  other  boys 
had  mobbed  you  a  bit,  so  that  I  could  have  stuck  by  you."  And 
Penny  said :  "You  didn't  really  think  I  was  going  to  throw  the 
weight  of  my  trade  union  on  to  the  side  of  that  foul,  caitiflE 
knave  of  a  Carpet  Slippers?  Why,  the  man's  a  low  fellow — 
the  sort  of  person  one  simply  doesn't  know.  He'd  drink  his 
own  bath-water." 


§6 

"If  you  succeed  in  doing  what  is  right,  come  and  see  me 
again."  I  decided  to  stay  away.  Many  times  that  morning  I 
passed  Radley  in  the  school  buildings,  and,  pretending  not  to 
have  seen  him,  went  by  with  a  hum  or  a  whistle.  In  the  after- 
noon he  came  and  coached  our  game  at  cricket ;  and  after  tea 


108  Tell  England  book  i 

he  bowled  at  the  Bramhall  Nets  where  I  was  practising.  When 
he  instructed  me  he  spoke  as  though  there  were  nothing 
between  us.  But  he  was  watching  me,  I  knew ;  wondering  why 
I  had  not  come,  and  longing  for  me :  and  I  rather  overplayed 
my  part. 

It  had  been  a  grey,  dull  day,  but,  just  before  retiring,  the  sun 
came  out  and  shamed  the  clouds  into  a  sullen  withdrawal. 
Then  it  went  under,  leaving  behind  it  a  glorious  red  glow  and 
the  hope  of  better  things  in  the  morning.  All  this  I  was  in  the 
mood  to  notice,  for,  though  trying  to  be  indifferent  to  destiny, 
I  was  heavy  and  dispirited.  I  did  not  see  how  I  could  ever  do 
right  again,  since  Radley's  determination  and  my  own  had  been 
insufficient  to  brace  me  for  the  onslaught.  It  was  evident  that 
mine  was  the  stuff  from  which  criminals  were  made. 

And,  as  the  red  glow  departed  and  the  darkness  gathered,  if 
there  was  one  lonely  boy  in  the  world,  languidly  despairing,  it 
was  I.  Many  times  I  found  myself  uttering  aloud  such  slang 
expressions  as :  "Oh,  my  hat !  If  only  I  had  told  the  beastly 
truth  for  the  third  time !  Dash  it,  why  didn't  I  ?  Why  the 
deuce  didn't  I?"  I  addressed  myself  as:  "You  blithering, 
blithering  fool !"  And  my  temples  began  to  ache  and  now  and 
then  to  hammer.  For,  always  in  these  my  early  days  of 
puberty,  excitement  and  worry  produced  such  immediate  sen- 
suous results. 

Radley  sent  for  me  at  last,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  go.  He  was 
very  kind.  Frankly,  I  believe  he  was  pleased  to  have  his  new 
favourite  in  his  room  again.    I  was  indeed  his  hobby  at  present. 

"Have  I  ever  bullied  you  at  the  nets,"  he  said,  "for  stepping 
back  to  a  straight  ball?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  the  universal  habit  of  'stepping  back'  is  exactly 
parallel  to  that  of  arguing  with  conscience.  The  habit  grows ; 
one's  wicket  always  falls  after  a  few  straight  balls ;  and  one's 
batting  goes  from  bad  to  worse.  Never  mind,  you  stood  up 
splendidly  to  the  first  two  straight  balls  and  scored  boundaries 
off  both.  That  shows  you  are  getting  into  your  old  form.  You 
are  out  of  practice  a  bit,  that's  all." 

And  I  went  out  of  his  room,  feeling  sure  that  for  some  time 
I  would  be  very  good. 


PART  1  Cheating  109 


§7 

±  always  left  Radley's  room,  feeling  that  I  could  blast  a  way 
through  every  mountain.  And  it  was  not  long  after  he  had 
received  my  mother's  letter  with  its  allusion  to  my  lack  of  a 
father,  that  he  addressed  hfmself  to  a  bigger  mountain  than 
any  of  these  little  trumpery  hills  that  you  have  watched  me 
conquering.  He  invited  me  to  his  room  one  evening,  and  sat 
me  in  an  armchair  opposite  him:  and  then  he  talked,  while  I 
watched  the  fire  getting  redder,  as  the  room  grew  darker. 
Soon  he  came  unhesitatingly  to  a  subject  that  I  was  just  at  an 
age  to  understand.  He  spoke  so  fearlessly  as  to  be  quite  un- 
restrained and  natural.  Nevertheless,  I  was  glad  that  the  room 
was  getting  darker,  as  I  felt  that  my  cheeks  were  red  and  hot. 
And  when  he  said :  "You  mustn't  mind  my  talking  to  you  like 
this,"  I  could  only  reply :    "Oh,  it's  all  right,  sir." 

But,  once  again,  I  left  his  room  feeling  that,  though  already 
I  had  had  my  reverses  in  the  moral  contest  of  which  he  spoke,  I 
would  win  through  in  the  end. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN   INTERLUDE 

IN  the  summer  holidays  of  that  year  I  received  a  letter  from 
Doe  inviting  me  to  spend  a  few  days  with  him  at  his 
Cornish  home  on  the  Fal.  Radley,  he  told  me,  was  already  his 
guest. 

There  was  some  excitement  the  morning  I  left  home  for  this 
adventure  into  the  West  Country.  My  mother  had  clothed  me 
in  a  new  dark-blue  suit.  Her  son  must  look  his  best,  she  said. 
She  insisted  on  my  wearing  a  light-blue  tie,  for  "it  matched  the 
colour  of  my  eyes."  I  rather  opposed  this  on  the  ground  that  it 
was  "all  dashed  silly."  But  she  disarmed  me  by  pointing  out 
that  I  was  her  doll  and  not  my  own,  and  the  only  one  she  had 
had  since  she  was  my  age,  which  was  a  century  ago — a  terrible 
lie,  as  she  looked  about  twenty-seven.  She  carried  her  point 
with  a  kiss,  called  me  her  Benjamin,  tied  the  tie  very  gingerly, 
and  subsequently  disarranged  it  completely  by  hugging  me  to 
say  good-bye,  as  though  I  were  off  for  a  lifetime. 

Alone  in  my  comer  seat  I  was  rolled  over  the  Trail  of 
Beauty  that  the  line  of  the  Great  Western  follows.  And  I 
watched  the  telegraph  wires  switchbacking  from  post  to  post, 
as  we  sped  along. 

When  we  steamed  into  Falmouth  station,  I  easily  distin- 
guished Radley 's  majestic  figure  standing  on  the  platform,  with 
Doe  actually  hanging  on  his  arm — a  thing  I  would  never  have 
dared  to  do.  In  fact,  I  guessed  that  Doe  was  doing  it  for  my 
benefit.  Our  young  host  was  in  a  light  grey  suit  that  would 
have  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  Kensingtowe's  administrators, 
who  stipulate  for  dark  garments  only:  and,  evidently,  he  had 
been  allowed  to  dictate  to  his  tailor,  for  the  suit  was  an  exact 
copy  of  one  that  Radley  had  worn  during  the  previous  term. 
He  looked  more  than  ever  like  his  nickname,  "the  Gray  Doe." 

Next  morning  the  sun  blazed  out  over  England's  loveliest 

no 


PART  I  An  Interlude  111 

stream,  the  Fal,  as,  widening,  it  flowed  seaward.  We  hurried 
down  to  the  foot  of  Doe's  garden,  where  a  rustic  boat-house 
sheltered  his  private  vessel,  the  Lady  Fal.  Doe  stepped  into  its 
stern,  and  I  into  its  bows,  and  Radley  took  the  oars.  With  a 
few  masterly  manoeuvres  he  turned  the  boat  into  midstream, 
and  then  pulled  a  rapid  and  powerful  stroke  towards  Tresillian 
Creek,  where  we  had  decided  to  bathe.  We  touched  the  bank 
at  a  suitable  landing-place,  disembarked,  and  prepared  to 
undress. 

The  events  of  this  day  linger  with  me  like  a  string  of  jewels ; 
and  the  bathe  was  one  of  the  brightest  of  them  all.  There  was 
a  race  between  Doe  and  myself  to  be  first  in  the  water.  As  I 
tossed  off  my  clothes,  the  excitement  of  anticipation  was  in- 
flating me.    I  would  surprise  them  with  my  swimming. 

My  mother  had  taught  me  to  swim.  We  began  our  studies 
in  the  bath,  when  I  was  still  a  baby,  she  leaning  over  the  side 
and  directing  my  splashing  limbs.  We  achieved  the  desired 
result  some  years  later  in  the  French  seas  off  Boulogne.  She 
never  could  swim  a  stroke  herself,  but  was  splendid  in  the 
book-work  of  the  thing.  Since  those  days  she  had  given  me 
unlimited  opportunities  to  acquire  perfection.  So  now,  Radley 
and  Doe,  my  masters,  you  should  learn  a  thing  or  two ! 

The  undressing  race  resulted  in  a  dead-heat,  but  whereas 
Doe  contented  himself  with  a  humble  jump  into  the  stream,  I 
contrived  to  execute  a  racing  dive.  Glorious  immersion !  It 
was  lovely,  oh,  lovely !  The  embrace  of  the  cool  river  seemed 
entrancing,  and  I  remained  a  fathom  down,  experiencing  one 
continuous  delight.  Unfortunately  I  was  under  water  longer 
than  my  breath  would  hold  out,  and  came  to  the  view  of  Radley 
and  Doe,  choking  and  spluttering  and  splashing.  Anxious  to 
retrieve  my  reputation,  for  I  was  detestably  conceited  about  my 
art,  I  started  off  for  a  long,  speedy  swim,  displaying  my  best 
racing  stroke.  Back  again,  at  an  even  faster  pace,  I  got 
entangled  with  Doe,  who  greeted  me  a  little  jealously  with: 
"Gracious !  Where  did  you  learn  to  swim^like  that  ?"  Radley's 
mouth  was  set,  and  he  remained  mercilessly  silent.  He  wasn't 
going  to  teach  me  conceit. 

Soon  we  were  clothed  again,  and  back  in  the  boat  with 
untidy  wet  hair  and  stinging  eyes,  but  with  the  glow  of  health 
warming  our  bodies. 


112  Tell  England  book  i 

Throughout  the  day  we  plied  our  craft  over  the  Fal,  lunching 
up  King  Harry  Reach,  and  taking  tea  not  far  from  Truro. 
When  we  turned  the  head  of  the  Lady  Fal  for  home,  the  sun 
was  sinking  fast,  and  Radley  pulled  his  swiftest,  as  he  wished 
to  be  at  Graysroof  before  dark.  So  I  lay  in  the  bows  and 
wondered  at  the  straighttiess  of  his  back,  and  Doe  nestled  in  the 
stern  and  admired  the  width  of  his  chest. 

We  glided  over  the  surface:  and  there  were  no  sounds  any- 
where, save  the  rushes  kissing  the  reeds,  the  water  lapping  the 
sides  of  the  boat,  the  little  fishes  chattering  beneath,  and  the 
rhythmic  music  of  Radley's  graceful  feathering,  which  sounded 
like  the  flutter  of  a  bird  upon  the  wing. 

To  dwell  upon  this  beautiful  evening  is  to  recover  a  little  of 
its  serene  exaltation.  I  like  to  recall  it  as  one  of  those  days 
about  which  we  ask  -ourselves  why  we  did  not  value  them  more 
when  we  had  them.  I  speak  of  it  here,  because,  in  the  soothing 
peace  of  the  Fal  that  twilight,  the  Esthetic  seemed  to  stir  in 
me — not  so  as  to  wake,  but  so  as  to  wake  soon.  I  felt  some 
vague  premonition  of  all  the  love,  the  sentiment,  and  the  sorrow 
which  would  be  mine  in  the  manhood  that  was  brightening  to  a 
pale,  but  tinted,  dawn. 


Part  II:    Long,  Long  Thoughts 

CHAPTER  VII 

CAUGHT  ON    THE   BEATEN    TRACK 
§    I 

1AM  sixteen  now,  and  the  marks  on  the  dormitory  wall 
show  me  that  I  am  many  inches  nearer  the  height  of  my 
ambition,  which  is  the  height  of  Radley.  Second  in  impor- 
tance, Kensingtowe  has  a  new  headmaster,  an  extraordinary 
phenomenon  in  the  scholastic  heavens,  a  long  man  of  callow 
years  and  restless  activity,  with  a  stoop  and  a  pointing  fore- 
finger. He  has  a  quaint  habit,  when  addressing  a  bewildered 
pupil,  of  prefacing  his  remarks,  be  they  gracious  or  damnatory, 
with  the  formula:  "Ee,  bless  me,  my  man."  (Nowadays  none 
of  us  speaks  to  a  schoolfellow  without  beginning:  "Ee,  bless 
me,  my  man.")  "Salome"  we  call  the  entertaining  creature. 
This  nickname  adhered  like  a  barnacle  to  him,  immediately 
after  he  had  employed,  in  his  exegesis  of  the  Greek  narrative 
of  Herodias'  daughter,  the  expression:  "Now,  if  I  had  been 
Salome " 

111  fares  it  with  a  youth,  if  he  has  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  is  seen  by  Salome.  Before  he  is  aware  of  the  great  pres- 
ence, that  stoop  overhangs  him,  that  forefinger  points  to  the  tip 
of  his  nose,  and  a  drawling  voice  says  with  rhythmic  emphasis : 
"Ee,  bless  me,  my  man,  youVe  got — your  hands — in  your 
pockets.  Take  off  your  spectacles,  sir.  I'm  going — to  sniack 
— ^your  face," 

And  he  can  put  his  foot  down,  too.  The  Bramhallites 
recently  organised  a  very  successful  punitive  raid  on  the  local 
errand  boys,  who  were  getting  too  uppish,  and  now  he  has 

113 


114  Tell  England  book  i 

stopped  all  "exeats"  for  the  members  of  Bramhall  House.  The 
town  is  out  of  bounds. 

Third  in  importance  is  my  quarrel  with  Edgar  Doe.  It 
began,  I  think,  with  his  jealousy  of  me  as  Radley's  new  favour- 
ite. Then  he  has  apparently  thrown  over  all  desire  for  glory 
in  the  cricket  world  and  decided  that,  for  an  elect  mind  such  as 
his,  a  reputation  for  intellectual  brilliance  is  the  only  seemly 
fame.  He  delights  to  shock  us  by  boldly  saying  that  he  would 
rather  win  the  Horace  Prize  than  his  First  Eleven  Colours; 
and  is  actually  at  work,  I  believe,  on  a  translation  of  the  Odes 
into  English  verse.  At  any  rate,  he  is  two  forms  ahead  of 
Penny  and  me,  and  has  joined  the  Intellectuals.  He  has  views 
on  the  Pre-Raphaelites,  Romanticism,  and  the  Housing  Ques- 
tion. 

Maybe,  too,  I  have  been  very  willing  for  the  quarrel  to  pro- 
ceed, because  he  will  persist  in  his  collusion  with  that  mystery- 
man,  Freedham. 

Archibald  Pennybet  is  the  same  as  ever,  unless,  perhaps,  his 
eyelids  are  drooping  a  Httle  more  in  satisfaction  with  himself, 
and  his  nostrils  becoming  more  sensitive  to  the  inferiority  of 
everybody  else. 

In  a  rash  moment,  one  half -holiday,  Penny  and  I  made  use  of 
the  privilege,  to  which  we  became  entitled  when  we  completed 
two  years  at  Kensingtowe,  of  stroUing  across  to  the  Prepara- 
tory School  and  organising  a  cricket  match  between  some  of 
the  younger  '*Sucker-boys."  Not  being  allowed  to  go  down  to 
the  town,  we  thought  there  might  be  fun  in  playing  the  heavy 
autocrat  at  the  "Nursery." 

"We'll  make  these  beastly  little  maggots  sit  up,  unless  they 
play  properly,"  said  Penny.  "There  shall  be  no  fooling  when 
we  umpire." 

The  Suckers  received  us  with  gratifying  awe.  One  of  them 
in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness  called  Pennybet  "sir."  He  ac- 
cepted it  without  remark,  as  his  due. 

For  half-an-hour  we  did  well.  Six  balls  went  to  every 
"over,"  no  more  and  no  less.  Our  decisions,  when  we  were 
appealed  to,  were  given  promptly  and  decisively.  But  the  boys 
were  so  small,  and  the  play  was  so  bad,  that  the  novelty  soon 
wore  off.  Our  feeling  of  importance  died  away,  when  we 
realised  we  were  umpiring  in  a  match  where  the  stumps  were 


PART  II         Caught  on  the  Beaten  Track  115 

kept  in  position  by  the  bails,  and  there  was  no  one  who  could 
bowl  a  straight  ball,  or  anyone  who  could  hit  it,  if  he  did.  The 
wicket-keeper,  also,  gave  Penny  much  trouble;  and  sulked 
because  he  had  been  forbidden  to  stop  the  swift  bowler's  de- 
liveries by  holding  a  coat  in  front  of  him  and  allowing  the  ball 
to  become  entangled  in  its  folds.  My  fellow-umpire  had  occa- 
sion to  speak  very  seriously  to  him.  *'Really,''  he  said,  ''you're 
a  stench  in  my  nostrils.  Mr.  Ray,  who's  kindly  umpiring  for 
you  at  the  other  end,  never  gave  me  half  the  cheek  you  do,  when 
he  was  a  kid."  For  a  second  the  little  boy  wondered  if  he  had 
made  a  mistake  and  Penny  was  really  a  master. 

Having  given  eight  balls  to  an  over,  I  got  bored  and  retired 
to  my  position  at  square-leg,  displeased  with  the  condition  on 
which  our  privilege  was  granted  that,  having  organised  a  game, 
we  were  to  remain  at  our  posts  to  the  end.  Someone  awoke 
Penny,  who  walked  with  a  yawn  to  the  bowler's  wicket,  and, 
graciously  putting  into  his  mouth  a  huge  green  fruit-ball, 
offered  by  one  of  the  more  minute  players,  said  with  this  ob- 
struction on  his  tongue : 

"Plo-ay." 

When  the  twenty-eighth  ball  of  that  over  had  been  bowled,  I 
went  across  to  Penny,  presented  my  compliments,  and  intimated 
that  six  balls  constituted  an  over.  In  a  reply  of  some  length  he 
showed  that  he  had  a  sucked  fruit-ball  in  his  mouth,  which  he 
must  of  necessity  finish  before  he  called  "over,"  as  the  word 
required  a  certain  rounding  of  the  lips,  and  the  confectionery 
might  shoot  out  of  his  mouth  at  the  effort.  An  impertinent 
little  junior  echoed  my  criticism. 

"Yes,"  he  protested,  "there  are  six  balls  to  an  over." 

Penny  placed  the  fruit-ball  between  his  gums  and  his  cheek, 
and  answered  magnificently : 

"There  are  not.  There  are  just  as  many  as  I  choose  to 
give." 

Then  he  took  the  fruit-ball  on  his  tongue  again  and  added : 

"We-soom  your  plo-ay." 

The  bowler  having  exerted  himself  twenty-nine  times,  was  a 
little  tired  and  erratic,  and  the  thirtieth  ball  hit  Square-leg  in  the 
stomach. 

"Wide,"  announced  Penny,  without  a  smile. 

The  thirty-first  ball,  amid  disorderly  laughter,  was  caught  by 


116  Tell  England  book  i 

Point  before  it  pitched.  The  batsman  meanwhile  sat  astride  his 
bat:  he  was  the  only  person  who  seemed  out  of  harm's  way. 
Point  held  up  the  ball  triumphantly  and  yelled  to  Penny: 
*' Whaf  s  that,  umpire  ?" 

*1  think  it  would  not  be  unreasonable,"  answered  Penny,  "to 
call  that  a  wide.'' 

This  was  a  long  sentence,  and  the  fruit-ball  shot  out  about 
half-way  through. 

Relieved  of  this  confectionery.  Penny  proceeded  to  give  a 
practical  illustration  of  "How  to  bowl."  I  fear  he  intended  to 
show  off,  and  to  send  down  a  ball  at  express  speed  which 
should  shatter  the  stumps.  At  any  rate,  while  the  Suckers 
watched  with  breathless  interest,  he  took  a  long  run  and  let  fly. 
One  thing  in  favour  of  Penny's  ball  was  that  it  went  straight. 
But  it  flew  two  feet  over  the  head  of  the  batsman,  who  flung 
himself  upon  his  face.     It  pitched  opposite  Long-stop. 

"Run!"  yelled  the  batsman,  picking  himself  up.  ''Bye! 
Run,  you  fool !  Bye,  idiot !"  This  was  addressed  to  the  bats- 
man at  the  other  end,  who  was  swinging  his  bat  like  an  Indian 
club  and  paying  no  attention  to  the  game.  He  pulled  himself 
together  on  being  appealed  to,  and  ran,  but  it  was  evident  that 
he  could  not  reach  his  crease,  as  Long-stop  had  accidentally 
stopped  the  lightning-ball — much  to  his  own  chagrin — and  was 
hurling  it  back  to  the  wicket-keeper  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of 
acute  agony. 

Our  unhappy  batsman  did  what  excitable  little  boys  always 
do — flung  in  his  bat  and  sprawled  on  the  ground.  The  bat 
struck  the  wicket-keeper,  who  had  just  knocked  off  the  bails. 
It  hit  him,  so  he  said,  on  his  bad  place. 

"Out,"  ruled  I. 

"Over,"  proclaimed  Penny  victoriously,  as  who  should  say: 
"There !  I've  got  a  man  out  for  you" ;  and  he  retired  honour- 
ably to  the  leg  position,  where  he  composed  himself  for  a  happy 
day-dream. 

The  new  bowler  at  my  end  began  by  bowling  swift.  The 
wicket-keeper  jumped  out  of  the  way,  as  his  mother  would  have 
wished  him  to  do,  and  Long-stop  shut  his  eyes  and  hoped  for 
the  best.  The  batsman  blindly  waved  his  bat,  and,  inasmuch  as 
the  ball  hit  it,  and  rebounded  some  distance,  called  to  his  part- 
ner, who  was  mending  the  binding  on  his  bat-handle. 


PART  II         Caught  on  the  Beaten  Track  117 

"Will  you  come?  Osborne,  you  fool!  Yes.  Yes.  YES! 
No,  no.  YE-E-ES !  No — go  back,  you  fool.  All  right,  come. 
No-no-no.  O,  Osborne,  why  didn't  you  run  that?  It  was  an 
easy  one/' 

*' Silly  ass,  Osborne,''  roared  Cover-point,  quite  gratuitously, 
for  no  one  had  addressed  him  for  the  last  twenty  minutes. 

The  batsman  ran  wildly  out  to  the  next  ball  and  missed  it. 
The  wicket-keeper  successfully  stumped  him.  It  was  a  clear 
case  of  *'out,"  and  a  shout  went  up:  "How's  that?" 

"That,"  said  Penny,  who  had  been  in  a  dream  and  seen 
nothing,  "is  Not  Out." 

I  was  disheartened  to  learn  on  this  occasion  that  little  boys 
could  be  so  rude  to  those  who  were  sacrificing  their  spare  time 
to  teach  them  cricket. 

"Really,"  sighed  Penny,  adjusting  his  tie,  "unless  you  treat 
me  with  due  respect,  I  will  not  come  and  coach  you  again." 

This  was  greeted  with  an  unmannerly  cheer. 

"Resume  your  play,"  commanded  Pennybet.  "It  was  Not 
Out." 

"Why  ?"  loudly  demanded  the  bowler. 

Penny  seized  the  only  escape  from  his  sensational  error. 

"Because,  you  horrid  little  tuberculous  maggot,  it  was  a  no- 
ball.     Besides,  you  smell." 

The  little  boy  looked  defiantly  at  him,  and,  pointing  to  me, 
said: 

"Bowler's  umpire  didn't  give  'no-ball.' " 

"Then,"  said  Penny  promptly,  "he  ought  to  have  done." 

I  was  so  shocked  at  this  unscrupulous  method  of  sacrificing 
me  to  save  his  reputation  that  I  shouted  indignantly :  "You're 
a  liar!" 

Later  a  warm  discussion  arose  between  the  batsman  and  the 
bowler  as  to  whether  the  former  could  be  out,  if  "centre"  had 
not  been  given  to  him  properly.  I  took  no  part  in  it,  but  looked 
significantly  at  Pennybet.  He  gazed  reproachfully  at  me,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "How  could  you  suggest  such  a  thing?"  I 
walked  over  to  him,  ostensibly  to  ask  his  advice.  The  quarrel 
continued,  most  of  the  fieldsmen  asserting  that  the  batsman 
was  out:  they  wanted  an  innings.  Unperceived,  we  strolled 
leisurely  away  and  disappeared  round  a  corner.    The  last  thing 


118  Tell  England  book  i 

that  I  heard  was  the  batsman's  voice  shouting:    "I'm  not  an 
ass.    I  haven't  got  four  legs,  so  sucks  for  you !" 


§2 

Reaching  the  road,  we  linked  arms  with  the  affection  born  of 
sharing  a  crime  and  the  risk  of  detection. 

"Where  are  we  going  to  ?"  asked  I. 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  man.    Down  town,  of  course." 

"But  it's  out  of  bounds." 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  man,  don't  you  know  that  to  me  all  rules 
are  but  gossamer  threads  that  I  break  at  my  will  ?  I'm  off  to 
buy  sausages.  I  haven't  had  anything  worth  eating  since  the 
holidays." 

And  so,  arm  in  arm,  we  marched  briskly  down  the  Beaten 
Track.  The  Beaten  Track,  I  must  tell  you,  was  a  route  into  the 
town  which  Penny,  Doe,  and  I  regarded  as  our  private  high- 
way. We  would  have  esteemed  it  disloyalty  to  an  inanimate 
friend  to  approach  the  town  by  any  other  channel.  It  led 
through  the  residential  district  of  Kensingtowe,  past  a  fashion- 
able church,  and  down  a  hill.  Dear  old  Beaten  Track !  How 
often  have  I  mouched  over  it,  alone  and  dreamy,  adjusting  my 
steps  to  the  cracks  between  its  pavement-flags!  How  often 
have  I  sauntered  along  it,  arm  in  arm  with  one  of  my  friends, 
talking  those  great  plans  which  have  come  to  nothing ! 

We  always  became  confidential  on  the  Beaten  Track;  and 
to-day  1  suddenly  pressed  Penny's  arm  and  opened  the  subject 
that,  though  I  would  not  have  admitted  it,  was  the  most  press- 
ing at  the  moment. 

"I  say,  why  does  Doe  avoid  us  now?" 

"The  Gray  Doe,"  sneered  Penny.     "Oh,  he She's  in 

love,  I  suppose.     With  Radley." 

"Don't  drivel,"  I  commanded ;  "why  does  he  hang  about  with 
that  awful  Freedham  ?" 

"When  you're  my  age,  Rupert,"  began  Penny,  in  kind  and 
accommodating  explanation,  "you'll  know  that  there  are  such 
things  as  degenerates  and  decadents.  Freedham  is  one.  And 
very  soon  Doe  will  be  another." 


PART  II         Caught  on  the  Beaten  Track  119 

"Well,  hang  it,"  I  said,  ''if  you  think  that,  how  can  you  joke 
about  it,  and  leave  him  to  go  his  way?" 

"Oh,  the  young  fellow  must  learn  wisdom.  And  he's  not  in 
any  danger  of  being  copped.  I'm  the  only  one  that  suspects ; 
and  I  guessed  because  I'm  exceptionally  brilliant.  Besides,  if 
he  wants  to  go  to  the  devil  for  a  bit,  you  can't  take  his  arm  and 
go  with  him." 

"No,"  said  I,  "but  you  can  take  his  arm  and  lug  him  back." 

"There  are  times,  Rupert,"  conceded  Penny  graciously, 
"when  you  show  distinct  promise.  I  have  great  hopes  of  you, 
my  boy." 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  I  said,  mentally  overthrown  to  find  that, 
without  forewarning  of  any  kind,  something  had  filled  my 
throat  like  a  sob  of  temper.  What  was  the  matter  with  me  ?  I 
unlinked  my  arm  and  walked  beside  Penny  in  moody  silence, 
determining  that  at  an  early  opportunity  I  would  bring  about  a 
quarrel  between  us  which  should  not  be  easily  repaired.  He, 
however,  was  disposed  to  continue  being  humorous,  and  fre- 
quently cracked  little  jokes  aloud  to  himself.  "Here's  the 
butcher's  shop,"  he  explained,  pointing  to  an  array  of  car- 
casses ;  "hats  off !  We're  in  the  presence  of  death."  And, 
when  he  had  purchased  his  sausages,  he  stepped  gaily  out  of 
the  place,  saying:  "Come  along,  Rupert,  my  boy.  Home  to 
tea!  Trip  along  at  Nursie's  side."  Just  as  I,  thoroughly 
sulky,  was  wondering  how  best  to  break  with  him,  and  deciding 
to  let  him  walk  on  alone  a  hundred  yards,  before  I  resumed  my 
homeward  journey,  I  heard  his  voice  saying: 

"Talking  about  Doe,  there  he  is.  And  the  naughty  lad  has 
been  strictly  forbidden  to  enter  the  town.     Dear,  dear !" 

It  was  an  acute  moment.  There,  far  ahead  of  us,  was  Doe 
in  the  company  of  Freedham,  with  whom  he  was  turning  into 
a  doorway.  A  pang  of  jealousy  stabbed  me,  and  with  a  throb, 
that  was  as  pleasing  as  painful,  I  realised  that  I  loved  Doe  as 
Orestes  loved  Pylades. 

The  truth  is  this :  ever  since  our  form  had  been  engaged  on 
Cicero's  "De  Amicitia,"  I  had  wanted  to  believe  that  my 
friendship  for  Doe  was  on  the  classical  models.  And  now 
came  the  gift  of  faith.  It  was  born  of  my  sharp  jealousy,  my 
present  weariness  of  Pennybet,  and  my  heroic  resolution  to 
rescue  Doe  from  the  degenerate  hands  of  Freedharn.    Only  go 


120  Tell  England  book  i 

nobly  to  someone's  assistance,  and  you  will  love  him  for  ever. 
Love !  It  was  an  unusual  word  for  a  shy  boy  to  admit  into  his 
thoughts,  but  I  was  even  taking  a  defiant  and  malicious  pleasure 
in  using  it.     I  was  Orestes,  and  I  loved  Pylades. 

In  the  glow  of  this  romantic  discovery,  I  no  longer  thought 
Penny  worth  any  anger  or  resentment,  so  I  slipped  my  arm 
back  into  his.  He  patted  my  hand  with  just  such  an  action  as 
an  indulgent  father  would  use  in  welcoming  a  sulky  child  who 
has  returned  for  forgiveness.  After  this  we  climbed  the  slope 
of  the  Beaten  Track  at  a  faster  pace.  And  then — what  an 
afternoon  of  strange  moods  and  tense  moments  this  was! — I 
encountered  on  the  other  side  of  the  road  the  surprised  gaze  of 
Radley. 

It  was  a  very  awkward  recognition,  and  I  hope  he  felt  half 
as  uncomfortable  as  I  did.  I  pinched  Penny's  arm  and  hurried 
him  on  quickly. 

*'Don't  push  me,"  he  grumbled.  "The  damage  is  done.  And 
it's  all  your  fault  for  leading  me  astray.  Radleyll  tell.  He 
never  spares  anyone;  least  of  all,  his  pets,  like  you.  There's 
one  comfort ;  I  can't  be  whacked ;  I'm  too  old.  But  you'll  gtt 
it,  Rupert.  Salome's  already  done  several  of  the  sixteen-year- 
olds.    Cheer  up,  Rupert !" 

"Hang  you,  I  don't  want  your  sympathy,"  I  retorted  sul- 
lenly. And  as  I  said  it,  I  passed  through  Kensingtowe's  gates 
to  the  punishment  that  awaited  me  within. 


§3 

We  were  not  summoned  for  judgment  for  several  uneasy 
hours.  It  was  dreary,  waiting.  About  six  o'clock  I  paid  a 
lonesome  visit  to  the  swimming  baths,  and  was  glad  to  find 
them  deserted.  Even  Jerry  Brisket,  the  professional  instructor, 
was  not  in  his  little  private  room.  Jerry  Brisket,  that  supreme 
swimmer,  loomed  as  an  heroic  figure  to  me  who  fancied  myself 
no  common  devotee  of  his  art.  I  had  often  thought  that  my 
ideal  would  be  to  build  a  private  swimming  bath  and  to  employ 
Jerry  at  a  salary  of  some  thousands  as  my  own  particular 
coach.     But  to-night,  in  spite  of  this  lavish  worship,  I  was 


PART  II         Caught  on  the  Beaten  Track  121 

relieved  to  find  him  absent.  I  flung  off  my  clothes  and  took  a 
long,  splashless  dive  into  the  shallow  end. 

Water  was  my  favourite  element,  especially  the  clear,  green 
water  of  the  baths.  I  loved  to  feel  that  it  was  covering  every 
part  of  my  body.  With  my  breast  nearly  touching  the  tiled 
bottom,  I  swam  under  water  for  a  long  spell.  And,  moving 
down  there,  like  a  young  eel,  I  compared  this  dip  with  that  in 
the  beautiful  Fal  of  a  year  ago.  Certainly  there  was  still 
pleasure,  glorious  pleasure,  in  complete  submersion,  but  on 
that  bejewelled  day  there  was  joy  above  as  well  as  below  the 
surface.  This  evening  all  that  awaited  me,  when  I  rose  from 
the  transparent  water,  was  punishment  and  indignity. 

''Hang  it,"  I  said  to  myself.  "I  think  V\\  stay  in  the  baths. 
They  can't  dive  after  me  here." 

With  the  unreasonableness  of  guilt  I  stigmatised  all  those 
plotting  my  hurt  as  "they."  I  did  not  specialise  individuals, 
possibly  because  Radley  was  one.  They  were  "they" — a  con- 
temptible "they." 

"They  are  brutes,"  I  concluded,  "and  I  don't  care  a  hang  for 
any  of  them." 

Then,  in  the  luxury  of  defiance,  I  swam  my  fastest  and  most 
furious  racing-stroke,  till  my  breath  gave  out  with  a  gasp,  my 
breast  felt  like  bursting,  and  my  heart  beat  heavily  on  my  ribs. 
So  I  lay  supine  upon  the  water,  closed  my  eyes,  and  derived  a 
surfeit  of  joy  from  tfiis  rest  after  fatigue. 

And,  while  I  was  doing  that,  I  suflfered  a  queer  thing. 
Through  my  closed  lids  I  saw  a  yellow  atmosphere  that  was 
fast  whitening.  It  seemed  to  smell  very  sweet ;  and  the  sensa- 
tion of  seeing  it  and  smelling  it  was  intoxicatingly  delightful. 
It  was  like  an  opiate.  What  Freedham  was  doing  in  the 
atmosphere  I  know  not,  but  I  saw  him,  as  one  would  in  a 
dream.  An  exquisite  sleepiness  was  entrancing  me,  when  the 
cold  water  rushed  in  at  my  ears  and  mouth,  and  with  an  "Oh !" 
and  a  choking,  I  struggled  to  the  rope.  Dizzily,  and  feeling  a 
pain  in  my  head  and  neck,  I  scrambled  out  and  lay  upon  the 
cold  sides  61  the  baths. 

"Heavens!"  thought  I.  "That  was  a  close  shave.  I  must 
have  strained  myself  and  nearly  fainted.  Why  have  I  got  that 
ass,  Freedham,  on  the  brain  ?" 

At    that    moment    the    sound    of    Jerry    Brisket's    return 


122  Tell  England  book  i 

caused  me  to  jump  up  and  dress.  I  was  quite  recovered,  but 
tired  and  depressed.  And,  as  a  result  of  the  curious  conditions 
of  the  evening,  there  seemed  to  be  gathering  about  me  a  pre- 
sentiment of  disaster. 

When  I  passed  Jerry's  door  on  my  way  out  of  the  building,  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  hear  a  friendly  voice,  so  I  called : 

"Good-night,  Jerry." 

He  came  to  the  door  in  his  white  sweater  and  white  trousers. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Ray.    Where  are  you  off  to  now  ?" 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm  off  to  be  walloped." 

Jerry  was  too  courteous  to  seek  particulars. 

"Oh,  bad  luck,"  he  said.  "Come  to  the  baths  this  time  to- 
morrow, and  it'll  be  all  over." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,  it,  Jerry,"  I  replied.  "Good-night" ;  and, 
letting  the  door  swing  behind  me,  I  passed  out  of  the  baths. 

"Good  old  Jerry,"  I  murmured  sentimentally.  "By  Jove,  if 
I  could  only  swim  like  him !     Dear — old — Jerry." 

An  unaccountable  melancholy  overcame  me,  as  I  rambled 
in  this  strain.  I  sighed:  "I  think  I'm  getting  too  old  to  be 
whacked." 

And,  as  I  phrased  the  thought,  walking  dreamily  outside  the 
baths,  the  strangest  thing  of  this  evening  happened.  There 
seemed  to  be  thrown  over  me,  far  more  heavily  than  on  that 
evening  up  the  Fal,  the  shadow  of  my  oncoming  manhood. 
And  with  it  came  ineffable  longings — longings  to  live,  and  to 
feel ;  to  do,  and  to  be.  The  vague  wish  to  avoid  the  indignity  of 
corporal  punishment  threw  off  its  cloak  and  showed  itself  to  be 
Aspiration.  There,  outside  the  baths,  the  Esthetic  awoke  in 
me.  The  sensation,  infinitely  sad  and  yet  pleasing,  was  so  com- 
plete that  it  left  me  hot-cheeked  and  wondering.  .  .  . 

In  truth,  so  warm  and  all-pervading  was  it  that  the  other  day, 
when  during  a  short  leave  from  France  I  stood  on  the  gravel 
that  sweeps  to  the  entrance  of  the  baths,  I  felt  the  memory  of 
that  moment  of  yearning  egoism  hanging  over  the  spot  like  a 
restless  spirit  of  the  past. 

§4 

The  whole  period  of  Preparation  passed  in  suspense.  And, 
when  the  bell  had  gone.  Penny  and  I  found  our  way  to  one  of 


PART  11         Caught  on  the  Beaten  Track  123 

the  Bramhall  class-rooms,  where  I  sat  upon  the  hot- water  pipes 
(the  wisdom  of  which  proceeding  I  have  since  doubted).  After 
about  five  minutes  there  rushed  in  a  bad  little  boy  who,  having 
more  relish  in  the  thought  of  his  message  than  breath  to  deliver 
it,  puffed  out:  *'0h,  there  you  are.  Fve  searched  for  you 
everywhere/'  Then  he  paused,  recovered  his  breath,  and 
actually  pointed  a  finger  at  us,  saying : 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  men,  Salome  wants  you  in  Radley's  room." 

Penny  took  the  small  boy's  head  and  banged  it  three  times  on 
a  desk. 

In  Radley's  familiar  room  we  found  Salome,  who  no  sooner 
saw  me  than  he  cried : 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  man.  Will  you  take — your  hand — out  of 
your  pocket f' 

This  was  such  a  surprise  that  I  blushed  and — oh,  accursed 
nervousness  ! — began  to  giggle.  My  terror  at  giggling  in  the 
Presence  was  so  real  that  I  compressed  my  lips  to  secure 
control.  But  control  was  as  impossible  as  concealment. 
Salome  came  very  close,  pointed  at  my  mouth,  and  said : 

"I  think  you're  giggling.  Take  off  that  ridiculous  expres- 
sion, my  man.    I'm  going — to  smack — your  face." 

Sobered  in  a  moment,  I  composed  my  features  for  the 
punishment  and  received  it,  stinging  and  burning,  on  my 
reddened  cheek. 

Salome  again  pointed  at  me. 

"You're  a  sportsman,  sir,  a  sportsman,  and  I  like  you,"  an 
affection  which  I  at  once  reciprocated. 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  man,"  he  pursued.  **What's  your  horrible 
name  ?" 

"Ray,  sir." 

"Well,  Ray,  I'm  going  to  cane  you  hard" — (rather  crudely 
expressed,  I  thought) — "because  your  offence  is  serious,  bless 
me,  my  man" — (an  unreasonable  request  at  this  stage). 

He  took  out  his  cane  and  turned  first  to  Pennybet. 

"I  find,  Mr.  Pennybet,  that,  when  you  were  breaking 
bounds,  you  should  have  been  with  your  company — your 
company,  sir — at  shooting  practice.  It's  desertion,  sir — and 
punishable  by  death.  But  I  shan't  shoot  you.  You're  not 
worth  it — not  worth  it.  I  shan't  even  cane  you,  sir.  You're 
too  old — too  old." 


124  Tell  England  book  i 

Penny  looked  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say  he  thought  his  point 
of  view  was  very  sensible. 

"But  ee,  bless  me,  my  man,  take  off  that  complacent  ex- 
pression, or  I  feel  I  may  certainly  smack  your  face." 

Poor  Penny,  for  once  in  a  way,  was  rather  at  a  loss,  which 
was  all  Salome  desired,  so  he  turned  to  me. 

"Ray — I  think  that  was  your  detestable  name — I  shall  now 
cane  you.    Get  over,  my  man — get  over!' 

When  the  ceremony  was  completed,  Salome  talked  to  us  so 
nicely,  although  periodically  asking  us  to  bless  him,  that  I  told 
myself  I  would  never  break  bounds  again;  thereby  making 
one  of  those  good  resolutions  which  pave,  we  are  told,  another 
Beaten  Track. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  FREEDHA'M  REVELATIONS 
§   I 

THE  next  half -holiday  I  was  walking  towards  the  tuck-shop 
and  gloomily  deciding  that  Doe's  wilful  estrangement 
from  me  was  fast  being  frozen  into  tacit  enmity,  when  I  felt 
an  arm  tucked  most  affectionately  into  mine.  It  was  done 
so  quietly  and  quickly  that  I  nearly  leapt  a  yard  at  the  shock. 
The  arm  belonged  to  Doe. 

*'Ray,  you  old  ass/'  he  began. 

Doe,  now  sixteen,  was  not  so  very  different  from  the  small 
fawning  creature  of  three  years  before.  Although  the  perfect 
curve  of  the  cheek-line  had  given  place  to  a  perceptible  de- 
pression beneath  the  cheek-bone;  although  the  usual  marks 
of  a  boy's  adolescence — the  slight  pallor,  the  quick  blush  of 
diffidence,  the  slimness  of  limb — were  all  very  noticeable  in 
Doe,  there  was  yet  much  of  the  original  Baby  about  his  ap- 
pearance. It  could  be  marked  in  his  soft,  indeterminate  mouth, 
whose  flower-like  lips  seemed  always  parted ;  in  his  inquiring 
eyes  and  unkempt  hair;  and,  at  the  present  moment,  in  an 
artless  excitement  that  I  had  not  seen  for  many  a  day. 

I  tried  to  drag  my  arm  away,  but  he  held  it  too  tight,  and 
proceeded  to  make  the  remarkable  statement: 

"You  old  ass !    Surely  you've  been  sulking  long  enough." 

"Well,  I  like  that,"  replied  I,  with  an  empty  laugh.  "You 
drop  me,  sulk  like  a  pig,  and  then  say  it's  the  other  way 
round " 

"Rot!"  he  interrupted.  "Didn't  you  deliberately  cut  me 
out  with  Radley?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I  said,  although  the  hint 
that  I  was  Radley's  favourite  always  gave  me  a  flush  of 
pleasure. 

125 


126  Tell  England  book  i 

*'And  haven't  you  been  hanging  on  to  Penny,  just  to  make 
me  jealous?" 

"Never  entered  my  head,"  I  replied  promptly,  and  with 
truth.  "I  leave  that  sort  of  thing  to  schoolgirls  like  you.  But 
it  evidently  did  make  you  jealous." 

"Yes,  it  did,''  he  admitted  with  an  engaging  smile.  This 
softened  me ;  and  my  affection  for  him  began  at  once  to  throb 
into  activity. 

''Yes,  it  did;  and  now  that  you've  said  you're  sorry,  I  feel 
frightfully  lively.  Let's  go  and  smash  a  window  or  some- 
thing." 

His  spirits  were  infectious,  and  he  dragged  me  off  to  the 
study  which  his  intellectual  eminence  had  recently  secured 
for  him.  When  we  arrived  there,  he  tossed  me  a  bag  of  sweets, 
which  had  clearly  been  bought  as  a  means  to  sugar  the  recon- 
ciliation, and,  dropping  into  his  armchair,  stretched  his  legs 
in  front  of  him,  and  said : 

"Let's  talk  as  we  used  to." 

I  was  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  finding  some  opening 
remark  by  the  bursting  into  the  room  of  "Moles"  White. 

If  you  look  up  the  Latin  word  "  Moles  "  in  the  dictionary, 
you  will  find  that  it  means  "a  huge,  shapeless  mass";  and 
all  of  us  had  been  very  quick  to  see  that  this  was  an  excellent 
description  of  our  junior  house-prefect.  White.  Moles  White 
was  as  enormous  and  ugly  in  his  dimensions  as  he  was  genial 
and  simple  in  face.  You  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  possessed 
all  the  traditional  kindliness  and  generosity  of  the  giant.  As 
he  crashed  into  Doe's  study,  he  was  swinging  some  books  on 
the  end  of  a  strap. 

"Found  you.  Doe,"  said  he.  "Look  here,  Bramhall's  got 
to  make  the  best  house-team  it  can,  which  means  you  must 
give  up  slacking  at  cricket.  You'll  play  at  the  nets  this 
evening." 

"Heavens!  Ray,"  Doe  murmured  in  mock  dismay,  as  he 
stared  out  of  eyes  that  sparkled  with  impudence  at  White's 
huge  frame,  "what  on  earth  is  this  coming  in?" 

White  smiled  meaningly. 

"Don't  be  cheeky  now,  Doe,"  he  suggested.  "No  Up, 
please." 

Doe's  reply  was  a  laugh,  and  the  question  addressed  to  me: 


PART   II 


The  Freedham  Revelations  127 


"I  say,  Ray,  do  you  think  it's  an  Iguanodon?" 

*'Well,"  said  White,  striding  forward  and  beginning  to 
swing  his  books  ominously,  "if  you're  asking  for  trouble,  you 
shall  have  it." 

Doe  ducked  down  and  raised  his  right  hand  to  protect  his 
head. 

"I  never  said  it.  White,"  he  affirmed,  giggling.  "Really,  I 
didn't.  You  thought  I  did.  I  never  called  you  an  Iguanodon 
— Fve  too  much  respect  for  you." 

"Yes,  you  did.  Take  your  hand  away.  I'm  determined  to 
swing  these  books  on  to  your  head." 

"Ray,"  shouted  Doe  between  his  giggles,  "take  him  away. 
Don't  bully.  Moles !    You  great  beast !    Ray,  he's  bullying  me." 

White  paused.  Bullying,  even  in  fun,  was  a  horrible  idea. 
The  books  fell  limply  to  his  side. 

"Be  sensible,  if  you  can,  Doe.  You've  got  to  play  this 
evening." 

The  change  in  White's  voice  prompted  Doe  to  raise  his 
head  and  look  up  from  under  his  arm  at  his  attacker. 

"Great  Scott,  Ray,"  he  blurted  out.  "If  it's  not  an  Iguano- 
don, it's  a  prehistoric  animal  of  some  sort." 

"My  hat!"  exclaimed  White.  "You  young  devil!  Put 
that  hand  down  while  I  smite  you  over  the  head  with  these 
books."  And  he  made  as  though  to  execute  his  threat.  Doe 
accordingly  retired  still  further  down  into  his  chair,  and  placed 
his  elbow  to  ward  off  the  swinging  books. 

"I  didn't  say  it.  White,  you  liar!  Shut  up,  will  you?  You 
might  hurt  me  seriously.  Go  away.  I  hate  you!  Oh,  hang 
It!" — (this  was  when  the  books  struck  him  on  the  elbow), — 
it  hurts.  Moles.    Leave  off,  while  I  rub  my  elbow." 

The  gentle  giant  responded  to  this  reasonable  request;  the 
books  dropped;  and  Doe,  looking  reproachfully  at  his  exe- 
cutioner, set  about  massaging  his  elbow. 

"Ray,"  he  said,  when  the  operation  was  complete,  "is  there 
any  known  means  of  removing  this  nightmare  ?  " 

Immediately  his  uplifted  arm  was  seized  in  White's  huge 
paw.  Doe's  eyes  were  sparkling,  his  cheeks  red,  and  his  hair 
tumbled.  His  right  arm  being  now  held,  he  laughed  more 
loudly  and  nervously  and  raised  his  left. 

"By  Jove,  White,"  he  cried,  "if  you  rouse  my  ire.  I'll  get 


128  Tell  England  book  i 

up  and  lick  you.  Let  go  of  my  hand — it's  not  yours.  Oh, 
shut  up,  you  great  swine!  Hang  it,  Ray" — (this  with  a 
shriek,  half  of  laughter,  half  of  anticipation) — "he's  got  my 
left  hand  as  well — O,  White,  Fm  sorry." 

White  held  both  his  victim's  wrists  in  one  hand.  Too 
honourable  to  take  advantage  of  this,  he  swung  his  books  at  a 
distance  and  said: 

"You've  got  to  play  at  the  nets,  do  you  hear?" 

My  friend  simulated  anger.  Struggling  to  get  free,  he 
ejaculated : 

"I'll  not  be  ordered  about  by  an  Iguanodon.  I'm  not  that 
sort  of  man.  O,  White,  I  said  I  was — he,  he,  ha ! — sorry.  I 
didn't  mean  to  be  rude.     I  didn't  see  it  in  that  light " 

"Whack"  came  the  books  gently  on  his  back. 

"Oh,  please.  Moles  White,  please  stop.  There's  a  dear  old 
Iguanodon.    Ow — Ow — Ow !" 

By  this  time  Doe  was  much  out  of  breath,  and  his  sentences 
were  short  and  broken :  "It  doesn't  hurt.  It's  lovely !  Ray, 
don't  stand  there  grinning  like  this  chimpanzee.  White." 

Suddenly  at  an  upward  swing  the  slender  strap  broke,  and 
the  books  crashed  through  the  window. 

"Damn!"  said  White. 

Doe,  flushed  and  dishevelled,  picked  himself  out  of  his 
chair. 

"That's  what  comes  of  bullying,  Moles  White.  Ill  pay 
for  it.     It  was  my  beastly  fault!" 

"No,  you  won't,"  said  White. 

"Don't  presume  to  contradict  me,  Moles  White,  or  I'll  lick 
you !    I  have  stated  that  I'll  pay  for  it." 

"No,"  White  decided.  "We'll  split  the  difference  and  go 
shags." 

I  felt  the  old  fellow  was  not  displeased  at  this  compromise, 
for  his  purse  had  its  limitations.  He  withdrew  from  the  scene 
and  left  us  to  our  confidential  chat. 

When  he  had  gone,  there  set  in  a  reaction  from  the  excited 
liveliness  of  his  visit.  Doe  looked  sadly  through  the  broken 
pane  and  said: 

"Isn't  Moles  a  corking  old  thing?  The  sort  of  chap  who's 
naturally  good,  and  couldn't  be  anything  else  if  he  tried." 


PART  11  The  Freedham  Revelations  129 

Something  wistful  in  the  words  caused  me  to  see  a  vision  of 
the  gravel-path  sweeping  to  the  doorway  of  the  baths. 

"I  say,  Doe/'  I  began,  ''have  you  ever  felt  that  you'd  like 
to  be — something  different  from  the  ordinary  run  ?" 

Doe  swung  round  on  me. 

"Have  I  ever?  Why,  you  know,  Rupert,  that  I'm  the  most 
ambitious  person  in  the  world.  And,  by  Jove  !  I  believe  I 
might  have  done  something  great " 

''Might  have  done!"  interrupted  I,  surprised  that  he 
should  have  decided  at  sixteen  that  his  life  was  earmarked  for 
a  failure.  "You'll  probably  live  quite  ten  years  more,  so 
there's  still  time." 

Doe  turned  again  and  sent  his  gaze  through  the  broken  win- 
dow, replying  in  a  little  while: 

"Oh,  I've  lived  long  enough  to  know  that  I'm  the  sort  that's 
destined  to  make  a  mess  of  his  life.  I — oh,  hang  it,  you 
wouldn't  understand  ..." 

Evidently  in  Doe,  as  in  me,  his  manhood  had  come  down 
the  corridor  of  the  future  and  met  his  childhood  face  to  face. 
One  minute  before  this  he  was  an  irresponsible  baby  "cheek- 
ing" Moles  White ;  now  he  was  the  germinal  man,  borne  down 
with  the  weight  of  life.  He  paused  for  me  to  plead  my  under- 
standing, and  invite  his  confidence.  But  an  awkwardness  held 
me  dumb,  and  he  was  obliged  to  continue: 

"I  wish  you  could  understand,  because Do  you  know, 

Rupert,  why  I  made  it  up  with  you  this  afternoon  ?"  He  came 
away  from  the  window  and  sat  in  a  chair  opposite  me.  "It 
was  because  I  was  glowing  with  a  new  resolution.  It  was 
the  rippingest  feeling  in  the  world.  I — I  had  just  decided  to 
cut  with  Freedham." 

Up  to  this  point  I  had  been  looking  into  his  face,  but  now 
I  turned  away.  Instinctively  I  felt  that,  if  he  were  going  to 
speak  of  his  transactions  with  Freedham,  he  would  be  abashed 
by  my  gaze.  He  rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  began 
to  tie  knot  after  knot  in  a  piece  of  string. 

"Freedham's  an  extraordinary  creature,"  he  proceeded. 
"He  first  got  hold  of  me  when  I  was  at  the  Nursery.  He 
would  get  me  in  a  dark  corner,  and  alternately  pet  and  bully 
me.  I  remember  his  once  holding  me  in  a  frightful  grip  and 
saying:    'You're  so '     (I'm  only  telling  you  what  he  said, 


130  Tell  England  book  i 

Rupert) — 'You're  so  pretty  that  I'd  love  to  see  you  cry/  He's 
that  type,  you  know." 

For  a  while  Doe,  whose  cheeks  and  neck  were  crimson, 
knotted  his  string  in  silence. 

"Then  he  used  to  give  me  money  to  encourage  me  to  like 
him,  and  dash  it,  Ray  !  I  do  like  him.  He's  got  such  weird, 
majestic  ideas  that  are  different  from  anyone  else's, — and  he 
attracts  me.  His  great  theory  is  that  Life  is  Sensation,  and 
there  must  be  no  sensation — a  law,  or  no  law — which  he  has 
not  experienced.  I  believed  him  to  be  right  (as  I  do  still,  in 
part)  and  we — we  tried  everything  together.  We — we  got 
drunk  on  a  beastly  occasion  in  his  room.  We  didn't  like  it, 
but  we  pushed  on,  so  as  to  find  out  what  the  sensation  was. 
And  then — oh!  I  wish  I'd  never  started  telling  you  all 
this " 

He  tied  a  knot  with  such  viciousness  that  few  would  have 
had  the  patience  to  untie  it. 

**Go  on,  old  chap,"  I  said  encouragingly.  I  was  proud  of 
playing  the  sympathetic  confidant ;  but,  less  natural  than  that, 
a  certain  abnormality  in  the  conversation  had  stimulated  me; 
I  was  excited  to  hear  more. 

"Well,  he  told  me  that  years  before  he  had  wanted  to  see 
what  taking  drugs  was  like,  and  he  had  been  taking  them  ever 
since.  He  was  mad  keen  on  the  subject  and  had  read  De 
Quincey  and  those  people  from  beginning  to  end.  I've  tried 
them  with  him.  .  .  .  There  are  not  many  things  we  haven't 
done  together." 

Doe  tossed  the  string  away. 

"I  know  I  might  have  done  well  in  cricket,  but  Freedham 
used  to  say  that  excelling  in  games  was  good  enough  for 
Kipling's  '  flannelled  fools '  and  *  muddied  oafs.'  We  thought 
we  were  superior,  chosen  people,  who  would  excel  in  mysticism 
and  intellectualism." 

As  he  said  it,  Doe  looked  up  and  smiled  at  me,  while  I  sat, 
amazed  to  discover  how  far  he,  with  his  finer  mind,  had  out- 
stripped me  in  the  realms  of  thought.  I  had  no  idea  what 
mysticism  was. 

"And  I  still  think,"  he  pursued,  "that  Freedham's  got  hold 
of  the  Truth,  only  perverted;  just  as  he  himself  is  a  perver- 
sion.   Life  is  what  feeling  you  get  out  of  it;  and  the  highest 


PART    II 


The  Freedham  Revelations  131 


types  of  feeling  are  mystical  and  intellectual.  I  only  knew 
yesterday  what  a  perversion  he  really  was.  I  saw  something 
that  Fd  never  seen  before— he  had  a  sort  of  paroxysm — like  a 
bad  rigor;  something  to  do  with  the  drug-habit,  I  s'pose " 

A  powerful  desire  came  over  me  to  say :  ^7  knew  all  about 
his  fits  years  ago,"  but  it  melted  before  the  memory  of  a  far- 
away promise.  At  this  point,  too,  I  became  perfectly  sure 
that,  although  Doe's  sudden  self-revelation  was  an  intense  and 
genuine  outburst,  yet  he  was  sufficiently  his  lovable  self  to 
feel  pride  in  his  easy  use  of  technical  terms  like  paroxysm 
and  rigor. 

**It  frightened  me,"  continued  he.  "It's  only  cowardice 
that's  made  me  cut  with  him.  I  know  my  motives  are  all 
rotten,  but  no  matter;  I  was  gloriously  happy  half-an-hour 
ago,  when  I  had  made  the  resolution.  And  now  I'm  melan- 
choly. That's  why  I'm  talking  about  being  a  great  man.  You 
must  be  melancholy  to  feel  great." 

As  he  said  the  words,  Doe  leapt  to  his  feet  and  unconsciously 
struck  his  breast  with  a  fine  action. 

"And  I  sometimes  know  I  could  be  great.  I  feel  it  surging 
in  me.  But  I  shall  only  dream  it  all.  I  haven't  the  cold,  cal- 
culating power  of  Penny,  for  instance.  He's  the  only  one  of  us 
who'll  set  the  Thames  on  fire.  At  present,  Rupert,  I've  but  one 
goal;  and  that  is  to  win  the  Horace  Prize  before  I  leave.  If  I 
can  do  that,  I'll  believe  again  in  my  power  to  make  something 
of  my  life." 


§2 

I  fear  I'm  a  very  ignoble  character,  for  this  conversation, 
instead  of  filling  me  with  pain  at  Doe's  deviations,  only  gave 
me  a  selfish  elation  in  the  thought  that  I  had  utterly  routed 
my  shadowy  rival,  Freedham,  and  won  back  my  brilliant  twin, 
who  could  talk  thus  familiarly  about  mysticism.  And  now 
there  only  remained  the  very  concrete  Fillet  to  be  driven  in  dis- 
order from  the  field. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WATERLOO  OPENS 
§1 

AND  here  begins  the  record  of  my  Waterloo  with  Fillet. 
One  June  morning  of  the  following  year  all  we  Bram- 
hallites  were  assembled  in  the  Preparation  Room  for  our  weekly 
issue  of  ''Bank''  or  pocket-money;  we  were  awaiting  the  ar- 
rival of  Fillet,  our  house-master,  with  his  jingling  cash-box. 
Soon  he  would  enter  and,  having  elaborately  enthroned  him- 
self at  his  desk,  proceed  to  ask  each  of  us  how  much  "Bank" 
he  required,  and  to  deliberate,  when  the  sum  was  proposed, 
whether  the  boy's  account  would  stand  so  large  a  draft.  The 
boy  would  argue  with  glowing  force  that  it  would  stand  that 
and  more ;  and  Fillet  would  put  the  opposing  case  with  irritat- 
ing contumacy. 

This  morning  he  was  late;  the  corridors  nowhere  echoed 
the  rattle  of  his  cash-box.  So  it  occurred  to  me  to  entertain 
the  crowd  with  a  little  imitation  of  Fillet.  Seating  myself 
at  his  desk,  I  frowned  at  a  nervous  junior,  and  addressed  him 
thus: 

"N-now,  my  boy,  how  much  b-b-bank  do  you  want?  Shil- 
ling? B-b-bank  won't  stand  it.  T-take  sixpence.  Sixpence 
not  enough  ?    Take  ninepence  and  run  away." 

The  Bramhallites  enjoyed  my  impersonation. 

"N-now,  Moles — White,  I  mean — how  much  b-b-bank  do 
you  want?  Two  shillings?  B-bank  won't  stand  it.  Take 
three  halfpence — take  it,  Moles,  and  toddle  away." 

There  were  roars  of  laughter,  and  a  grin  from  White  like  the 
smile  of  a  brontosaurus. 

"N-now,  Doe,  you  don't  want  any  this  week — you've  come 
to  pay  in  some,  I  suppose.    You — oh,  damn !" 

This  whispered  oath,  accompanied  by  a  dismayed  stare  at 

132 


PART  II  Waterloo  Opens  133 

the  door,  turned  the  heads  of  all  in  that  direction.  Fillet,  in 
his  carpet  slippers,  had  come  round  the  corner  and  was  an 
interested  critic  of  my  little  imitation. 

Very  red,  I  vacated  the  seat  to  its  owner  and  stepped  down 
among  the  boys.  Without  a  word  he  took  it  in  my  stead, 
placed  his  cash-box  on  the  desk,  and  opened  his  book. 
*'N-now,  White,  how  much  b-b-bank  do  you  want?" 
Having  heard  this  before,  several  boys  tittered.  Out  of 
nervousness  I  tittered  too,  and  cursed  myself  as  I  did  so. 
Fillet  looked  at  me  as  though  he  would  have  liked  to  repeat  the 
flogging  he  had  given  me  many  years  before.  But  the  blushing 
boy  in  front  of  him  was  now  seventeen,  and  taller  than  he. 

When  the  last  account  had  been  duly  debited,  the  Bram- 
hallites  dispersed  to  their  classes.  Throughout  that  day  the 
incident  was  a  painful  recollection  for  me.  I  felt  I  could  beat 
Fillet  with  cleaner  weapons  than  an  exploiting  of  his  affliction: 
and  the  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  I  decided  that  I  must 
go  and  apologise  to  him.  The  sentence  to  be  used  crystallised 
in  my  mind:  "Please,  sir,  I  came  to  say  I  was  sorry  I  was 
imitating  you  this  morning." 

With  this  little  offering  I  walked  in  the  fall  of  the  evening 
upstairs  to  his  study.  My  knock  eUciting  a  "C-come  in,"  I 
entered  and  began : 

"Please,  sir,  I  came  to  say — "  I  got  no  further,  for,  with 
a  sour  look,  he  interrupted  testily: 
"Run  away,  b-boy,  run  away." 

This  rejection  of  my  apology  I  had  never  contemplated,  and 
it  was  with  a  sinking  heart  that  I  persisted : 

"Please,  sir,  I  wanted  to " 

''Run  away,  boy,  Tm  accustomed  to  dealing  witn  gentle- 
men." 

At  once  my  attitude  of  submission  was  changed  at  Fillet's 
clumsy  touch  into  one  of  hot  defiance. 

"Indeed,  sir,"  I  retorted.     "Fm  not  always  so  fortunate." 
I  went  quickly  out  and  managed  to  slam  the  door.    Blood  up, 
I  muttered: 
"Brute!    Beast!    Swine!    Devil!" 


134  Tell  England  book  i 


§2 

Moles  White,  who  was  now  the  house-captain,  was  occupied 
two  afternoons  later  in  discussing  with  the  bloods  of  Bramhall 
the  composition  of  the  House  Swimming  Four  for  the  Inter- 
house  relay  races. 

''Erasmus  House  have  a  splendid  Four,"  he  said.  "WeVe 
only  got  three  so  far :  there's  myself  and  Cully  and  Johnson.' ' 

"And  a  precious  rotten  three  too,"  said  Doe. 

*'Well,"  grumbled  White,  "there's  nobody  else  in  the  House 
who  can  swim  a  stroke ;  a  good  many  think  they  can." 

"Not  so  sure,"  whispered  Doe,  obscurely.  "Come  along  with 
me.  No,  Moles  alone."  And  he  dragged  White  towards  the 
baths. 

Within  that  beloved  building  I  was  trying  to  see  how  many 
lengths  I  could  swim.  It  was  rather  late,  and  I  had  the  water 
to  myself.  I  was  doing  my  sixth  length  when  I  saw  entering 
the  baths  the  ungainly  carcass  of  White  with  the  graceful 
form  of  Doe  hanging  affectionately  on  his  arm.  The  latter 
was  explaining  that  no  one  knew  how  well  I  could  swim,  as 
I  had  once  nearly  fainted  when  extending  myself  to  the  utmost 
and  had  gone  easy  ever  since.  "But  Rupert  can  really  swim  at 
ninety  miles  an  hour,"  he  concluded. 

So  White  called :    "Come  here,  Ray." 

"When  you  say  'please,' "  shouted  I,  swimming  about. 

Doe  thereupon  took  the  matter  in  hand  and  addressed  me : 

**Now,  Ray,  I  want  you  to  swim  your  best.  Here's  a  little 
kiddy  friend  of  mine  I've  brought  to  see  you.  Mr.  Ray,  this 
is  Master  Moles." 

White  ignored  his  companion's  playfulness  and  asked  me : 

"Can  you  swim  sixty  yards?" 

I  hurled  about  five  pints  of  water  at  him  to  show  that  I 
detected  the  insult. 

"You  old  Moles!"  said  Doe.  "Serves  you  right.  Why, 
he's  just  finished  swimming  about  seventy  thousand  yards." 

"Well,  sheer  off  and  let's  see  you  do  it,"  ordered  White. 

I  accordingly  swam  my  fastest  to  the  deep  end  and  back. 

"My  word !"  gasped  White.  "I  didn't  know  you  could  swim 
like  that." 


PART  II  Waterloo  Opens  135 

Doe  laughed  in  his  face. 

"You  loon !    He  could  swim  before  you  were  born/' 

Moles  seized  Doe  by  the  throat  and  pretended  to  push  him 
into  the  water,  but  characteristically  saved  him  from  falling 
by  placing  an  arm  round  his  waist. 

"Apologise,"  he  hissed,  "or  Fll  drop  you.'' 

"Moles,*'  replied  Doe  reproachfully.  "At  once  let  me  go;  or 
ril  push  you  in."  I  rendered  my  friend  immediate  assistance 
by  filling  White's  shoes  with  water. 

"Shut  up  that !"  said  he,  quickly  releasing  Doe,  who  retired 
from  the  baths  shouting :  "Moles,  you  ugly  old  elephant,  Ray 
could  give  you  eighty  yards  in  a  hundred,  and  beat  you." 

This  last  impertinence  suggested  an  idea  to  White.  '  He 
arranged  that  Cully,  Johnson,  he,  and  I  should  have  a  private 
race,  "in  camera,"  as  he  put.  The  event  came  off  the  follow- 
ing day,  and  I  won  it  with  some  yards  to  spare.  My  three 
defeated  opponents  were  generous  in  their  praise. 

"Golly!"  said  Johnson.  "I  thought  we'd  be  last  for  the 
Swimming  Cup.    But  snakes  alive !  we'll  get  in  the  semi-final." 

"Why,  man,"  declared  Cully.  "I  see  us  in  the  final  with 
Erasmus." 

"Final  be  damned!"  said  White.  "Train  like  navvies  and 
we'll  lift  the  Cup!" 

§3 

Never  did  human  boy  have  three  more  sporting  associates 
in  a  swimming  four  than  I  had  in  White,  Cully,  and  Johnson. 
■Because  I  was  a  year  younger  than  they  it  was  their  pleasure 
to  call  me  the  "Baby  of  the  Team,"  and  to  take  a  pride  in 
my  successes.  They  would,  in  order  to  pace  me,  take  half- 
a-length's  start  in  a  two-lengths'  practice  race,  and  make  me 
strain  every  nerve  to  beat  them.  Or  they  would  time  me 
with  their  watches  over  the  sixty  yards,  and,  all  arriving  at 
different  conclusions  as  to  my  figures,  agree  only  in  the  fact 
that  I  was  establishing  records.  Once,  when  according  to  a 
stop-watch  I  really  did  set  up  a  record,  Cully,  forgetting  his 
dignity  as  a  prefect  in  his  enthusiasm  as  a  Bramhallite,  cried 
"Alleluia!  alleluia!"  and  hurled  Johnson's  hat  into  the  air, 
so  that  it  fell  into  the  water. 


136  Tell  England  book  i 

The  members  of  Erasmus*  Four  were  at  first  incredulous. 

'^Heard  of  Bramhall's  find?"  said  they.  'They've  discov- 
ered a  young  torpedo  in  Ray.  He's  quite  good  and  they'll 
probably  get  into  the  final.  But  we  needn't  be  afraid.  They've 
a  weak  string  in  Johnson,  while  we  haven't  a  weakness  any- 
where. However,  we'll  take  no  risks."  And  so  they  started 
a  savagely  severe  system  of  training. 

Meantime  White  constituted  himself  my  medical  adviser,  and 
some  such  dialogue  as  this  would  take  place  every  morning: 

'*Now,  Ray,  got  anv  pain  under  the  heart?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  feel  anything  like  a  stomach-ache?" 

"Only  when  I  see  your  face." 

"Look  here,Td  knock  your  face  through  your  head,  if  I 
didn't  want  your  services  so  badly.    Are  you  at  all  stiff?" 

"Yes,  bored  stiff  with  your  conversation." 

It  was  true  that  there  had  been  no  trace  of  the  faintness 
which  had  attacked  me  a  year  before.  Had  there  been,  I  should 
have  kept  quiet  about  it,  for,  in  that  time  of  excitement,  I 
would  willingly  have  shortened  my  life  by  ten  years,  if  I 
could  have  made  certain  of  securing  the  Cup  for  Bramhall. 
Only  one  thing  marred  this  period  of  my  great  ascendency; 
Radley,  Bramhall's  junior  house-master,  never  gave  me  a  word 
of  praise  or  flattery. 

That  wound  to  my  self-love  festered  stingingly.  I  persisted 
in  letting  my  thoughts  dwell  on  it.  I  would  frame  sentences 
with  which  Radley  would  express  his  surprise  at  my  tran- 
scendent powers,  such  as :  "Ray,  you're  a  find  for  the  house" ; 
"I'm  glad  Bramhall  possesses  you,  and  no  other  house";  "I 
don't  think  I've  ever  seen  a  faster  boy-swimmer" ;  "You're  the 
best  swimmer  in  the  school  by  a  long  way."  I  would  turn 
any  conversation  with  him  on  to  the  subject  of  the  race,  and 
suffer  a  few  seconds'  acute  suspense,  while  I  waited  for  his 
compliment.  I  would  depreciate  my  own  swimming  to  him, 
feeling  in  my  despair  that  a  murmured  contradiction  would 
suffice :  but  this  method  I  gave  up,  owing  to  the  horror  I  ex- 
perienced lest  he  should  agree. 

And,  when  he  mercilessly  refused  to  gratify  me,  I  would 
wander  away  and  review  all  the  occasions  on  which  he  had 
st&Li  me  swim,  recalling  how  I  then  acquitted  myself;  or  I 


PART  II  Waterloo  Opens  137 

would  laboriously  enumerate  all  the  people  who  must  have 
told  him  in  high  terms  of  my  performances.  A  growing  annoy- 
ance with  him  pricked  me  into  a  defiant  determination,  so  that 
I  reiterated  to  myself:  "I'll  do  it.  1*11  win  it.  I  swear  I 
will!" 

Bramhall  passed  easily  into  the  final.  Erasmus,  too,  romped 
home  in  their  first  and  second  rounds.  So  on  the  eve  of  the 
great  race  it  was  known  throughout  Bramhall  that  the  house 
must  be  prepared  to  measure  itself  against  Erasmus*  famous 
four. 

Betting  showed  Erasmus  as  firm  favourites,  the  school  critics 
looking  askance  at  Johnson,  our  weakest  man.  Only  the 
Bramhallites  laid  nervous  half-crowns  on  the  house,  and  hoped 
a  mighty  hope.  That  excellent  fellow,  White,  displayed  his 
unfortunate  features  glowing  with  an  expression  that  was 
almost  beautiful. 

As  the  day  of  the  race  led  me,  steadily  and  without  pity, 
to  the  time  of  ordeal,  I  sickened  so  from  nerves  that  I  could 
scarcely  swallow  food;  and  what  I  did  swallow  I  couldn't 
taste.  I  was  glad  when  at  five  o'clock  something  definite  could 
be  done  like  going  to  the  baths,  selecting  a  cabin,  and  begin- 
ning to  undress.  Four  minutes  were  scarcely  sufficient  for 
me  to  undo  my  braces,  such  was  the  trembling  of  my  hand. 
I  longed  for  the  moments  to  pass,  so  that  the  time  to  dive  in 
could  come ;  every  delay  ruffled  me ;  I  wished  the  whole  thing 
were  over.  It  didn't  lessen  my  suffering  to  watch  the  gallery 
filling  with  excited  boys,  and  to  see  the  crowd  on  the  ground- 
floor  make  way  for  Salome  himself,  followed  by  Fillet  and 
Radley  as  representatives  of  Bramhall,  and  Upton  as  house- 
master of  Erasmus.  Perspiration  beaded  my  forehead.  My 
heart  fluttered,  and  I  began  to  fear  some  failure  in  that  quar- 
ter. At  one  moment,  when  I  was  in  extremis,  I  would  willingly 
have  exchanged  positions  with  the  humblest  of  the  onlookers : 
at  another  I  caught  a  faint  gleam  of  hope  in  the  thought  that 
the  end  of  the  world  might  yet  come  before  I  was  asked  to 
do  anything  publicly.  And  I  conceived  of  happier  boys  who 
had  died  young. 

The  baths  were  prepared  for  the  event.  Across  the  water, 
thirty  feet  from  the  diving-station,  a  large  beam  was  fixed, 
which  the  competitors  must  reach  and  touch,  before  turning 


138  Tell  England  book  i 

round  and  swimming  back  to  the  starting  point.  More  boys 
were  allowed  to  crowd  into  the  gallery  and  the  cabins.  Very 
conspicuous  was  the  expansive  white  waistcoat  of  old  Dr. 
Chapman,  who  was  busy  backing  Erasmus  when  talking  to  the 
boys  of  Erasmus,  and  Bramhall  when  questioned  by  Bram- 
hallites.  Fillet,  as  master  of  Bramhall;  Upton,  as  master 
of  Erasmus;  and  Jerry  Brisket,  as  a  neutral,  were  appointed 
judges. 

White  gathered  the  Bramhall  four  into  his  cabin  and  ar- 
ranged with  sanguine  comments  that  we  should  swim  in  this 
order : 

1.  Himself — to  give  us  a  good  start. 

2.  Johnson — ^to  lose  as  little  as  possible  of  the  fine  lead 
established. 

3.  Ray — to  make  the  position  absolutely  certain. 

4.  Cully — to  maintain  the  twenty-yards'  lead  secured  by 
Ray. 

**See,  Ray,"  he  said  to  me,  after  he  had  dismissed  the  others, 
"you  swim  third — last  but  one." 

"Ye— es,"  I  stuttered. 

"Nervous  ?"  he  inquired  softly. 

I  smiled  and  made  a  grimace.    "Beastly." 

He  gripped  my  hand  in  his  powerful  fist  and  whispered: 
"Rot!  you  are  certain  to  do  everything  for  us.  My  heart  is 
set  on  winning  this  and  staggering  the  school." 

I  smiled  again.  "You're  a  ripping  chap,  and  I'm  sorry  if 
I've  ever  cheeked  you." 

Sudden  cheering  told  us  that  the  great  Erasmus  four  had 
emerged  from  their  cabins.  They  were  as  fine  a  little  company 
of  Saxon  boys  as  ever  school  could  show;  comely,  tall,  and 
fair-skinned.  On  the  left  side  of  the  diving-boards  they  took 
up  their  pre-arranged  positions:  Atwood,  first;  Southwell 
Primus,  behind  him;  Lancelot,  third  (and  therefore  my  op- 
ponent) ;  and  then  Southwell  Secundus.  And  all  four  had 
tied  on  their  heads  the  black  and  white  polo-caps  of  the  school. 
Upton  looked  with  satisfaction  upon  his  house's  representa- 
tives; while  Dr.  Chapman,  standing  near,  exclaimed:  "Fine 
young  shoots  of  yours,  Uppy.  I  tell  you,  this  is  England's  best 
generation.  Dammit,  there  are  three  things  old  England  has 
learnt  to  make:  ships,  and  poetry,  and  boys." 


PART  n  Waterloo  Opens  139 

Now,  amid  less  resounding  but  still  enthusiastic  applause, 
the  Bramhall  four  assumed  positions  on  the  right.  White  stood 
on  the  diving-mat;  behind  him,  Johnson,  frowning;  next  my- 
self ;  and  lastly  Cully.  We  were  of  very  varying  heights,  from 
White,  whose  huge  proportions  exaggerated  the  difference, 
to  little  thick-set  Cully,  who  was  the  shortest  of  all.  And 
only  these  two  wore  the  polo-cap.  So  both  fours  stood  before 
the  multitude,  inviting  comparison:  Erasmus,  a  team;  Bram- 
hall, a  scratch  lot. 

Behind  me  Cully  observed  the  contrast,  and,  striving  with 
courage  to  belie  his  agitation,  murmured :  "Look  at  Erasmus. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  a  measly  lot?  If  we  can't  beat  that 
crew,  Ray,  my  boy,  we  must  be  duffers,"  to  emphasise  which 
remark  he  tickled  me  under  both  armpits,  so  that,  nearly 
jumping  out  of  my  skin,  I  fell  forward  on  to  Johnson,  who 
fell  forward  on  to  White,  who,  having  nobody  to  fall  forward 
on  to,  fell  prematurely  into  the  water.  This  extra  item  was 
loudly  "encored,"  and  White  scrambled  back  to  his  place  and 
bowed  his  acknowledgments. 

Salome,   as   starter,   thereupon   addressed   the   competitors. 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  men,  I  shall  say  'Are  you  ready  ?  Go !'  " 

His  words  were  like  a  bell  for  silence.  Upton  and  Fillet 
eyed  the  swimmers  narrowly. 

''Are  you  ready?    Go!" 

And  then  a  calamity  supervened.  While  Atwood  dived 
with  the  grace  of  a  swallow,  White,  well — White  missed  his 
dive;  he  leapt  into  the  air,  his  great  arms  and  legs  appeared 
to  hang  limply  down,  and  his  body  struck  the  water  with  a 
splash  that  set  the  whole  surface  in  a  turmoil.  "Moles  has 
gone  a  belly-flopper,"  shouted  the  crowd,  as  it  wept  with 
laughter.  "Good  old  Moles,  *a  huge,  shapeless  mass !'  "  I  was 
too  nervous  to  laugh,  and  wished  that  I  had  trousers  on,  for 
my  limbs  were  trembling  so  noticeably  that  I  felt  everybody 
must  be  studying  them.  Johnson  swore.  Cully  said:  "Bang 
goes  the  Cup!"  But  White  rose  and  started  furiously  to 
recover  the  lost  ground,  thrashing  the  water  with  his  limbs. 
Bravely  done!  How  the  building  cheered,  as  his  long  arms 
swung  distances  behind  them!  But  he  failed.  Atwood,  swim- 
ming with  coolness,  kept  and  increased  the  advantage;  and, 
accompanied  by  a  din  from  his  housemates  and  an  all-em- 


140  Tell  England  book  i 

bracing  smile  from  Upton,  touched  the  rope  beneath  the 
diving-mat  full  two  yards  in  front.  Over  his  head  dived  South- 
well Primus,  while  Johnson,  in  an  agony,  yelled  to  White  to 
hurry  his  shapeless  stumps.  Moles,  with  a  last  tremendous 
stretch,  touched  the  rope,  and  Johnson  plunged  splendidly 
to  his  work.  I  took  up  my  position  on  the  mat  and  helped 
White  to  flounder  out. 

"Ray,"  were  his  first  words,  *'if  s  up  to  you  now.  I'm  aw- 
fully sorry  I  muddled  it,  but  you'll  make  it  good.  I  know  you 
will — ^you  must.    I  shall  weep  if  we  go  down." 

'I'll  try,"  I  said. 

Meanwhile  Johnson,  as  is  often  the  case  with  the  weakest 
man,  outstripped  the  most  hazardous  faith.  To  the  joy  of 
Bramhall  he  matched  Southwell  Primus  with  a  yard  for  his 
yard.  But,  even  so,  his  pace  couldn't  eat  up  the  lost  ground ; 
and  the  Erasmus  man  touched  home  still  two  yards  in  front 
of  the  Bramhallite.  In  flew  Lancelot,  my  opponent;  and, 
with  the  coming  of  Johnson,  it  would  be  my  turn.  The  Bram- 
hallites,  in  a  burst  of  new  hope,  shouted  sarcastically:  "Go  it, 
Lancelot.  Ray's  coming.  He's  just  coming."  I  got  the  spring 
in  my  toes,  watched  carefully  to  see  Johnson  touch  the  rope 
beneath  me,  and  then,  to  the  greatest  shout  of  our  supporters, 
dived  into  the  beloved  element. 

They  told  me  (but  probably  it  was  in  their  enthusiasm)  that 
it  was  the  best  and  longest  racing-dive  I  had  ever  done;  that, 
remaining  almost  parallel  to  the  surface,  I  just  pierced  the 
water  as  a  knife  pierces  cheese.  AH  I  know  is  that  at  the 
grasp  of  the  cool  water  every  symptom  of  nerves  left  me :  and, 
with  my  face  beneath  the  surface,  and  the  water  rushing  past 
my  ears,  half  shutting  out  a  frenzied  uproar,  I  raced  con- 
fidently for  the  beam.  The  position  of  Lancelot  I  cared  not  to 
know.  My  one  aim  was  to  cover  the  sixty  yards  in  record 
time ;  and,  so  doing,  to  pass  him.  On  I  shot,  feeling  that  my 
arms  were  devouring  the  course ;  and,  some  five  strokes  sooner 
than  I  expected,  became  conscious  that  I  was  near  the  beam. 
In  an  overarm  reach  I  scraped  it  with  my  finger-tips.  Swing- 
ing round,  I  swam  madly  back.  Extending  myself  to  the 
utmost,  I  felt  as  if  every  stroke  was  swifter  than  its  prede- 
cessor. Now  my  breath  grew  shorter  and  my  limbs  began 
to  stiffen;  but  all  this  proved  a  source  of  speed,  for,  in  a  spirit 


PART  II  Waterloo  Opens  141 

of  defiance  of  nature,  I  whipped  arms  and  legs  into  even  faster 
movement;  it  was  my  brain  against  my  body.  Then  there 
came  into  view  the  rope,  which  I  touched  with  a  reach.  Mak- 
ing no  attempt  to  grasp  it,  for  I  seemed  to  be  travelling  too 
rapidly,  I  saw  the  atmosphere  darken  with  the  shadow  of 
Cully  passing  over  my  head,  and  crashed  head-first  into  the  end 
of  the  baths.  Not  stunned,  for  the  cold  water  refreshed  me, 
I  turned  immediately  to  see  if  I  had  really  got  home  before 
Lancelot.    He  was  still  in  the  water,  three  yards  from  the  rope. 


§4 

That  moment,  while  many  hands  helped  me  out  of  the 
water;  while  the  building  echoed  with  cheers  and  whistles; 
while  White,  too  happy  to  speak,  beamed  upon  the  world; 
while  fists  hammered  me  on  the  back;  while  Cully,  splendidly 
swimming,  made  the  victory  sure;  I  experienced  such  a  hap- 
piness as  would  not  be  outweighed  by  years  of  subsequent 
misery.  Though  my  limbs  were  so  stiff  that  it  was  pain  to 
move  them,  they  glowed  with  diffused  happiness;  though  my 
heart  was  fluttering  at  an  alarming  pace,  it  beat  also  with 
the  electric  pulsations  of  joy:  though  my  breath  was  too 
disturbed  for  speech,  yet  my  mind  framed  the  words:  "I've 
done  it,  IVe  done  if;  though  my  head  ached  with  the  blow 
it  had  received,  it  was  also  bursting  with  a  delight  too  great 
to  hold.  I  had  never  done  anything  for  the  house  before, 
and  now  I  had  won  for  its  shelf  the  Swimming  Cup. 

They  helped  me  to  my  cabin,  and,  as  I  sat  there,  I  composed 
the  tale  of  success  that  I  would  send  to  my  mother.  Then  I 
stood  up  to  dress,  and,  in  my  excitement,  put  on  my  shirt 
before  my  vest.  There  was  a  confusion  of  cheers  within  and 
without  the  building;  and  Upton,  Fillet,  and  Jerry  Brisket, 
the  judges,  were  to  be  seen  in  animated  debate,  while  many 
others  stood  round  and  listened.  Dazed,  faint,  and  uncon- 
scious of  the  passage  of  momentous  events,  I  took  no  notice 
of  them,  but  drank  deeply  of  victory.  It  exhilarated  me  to 
reconstruct  the  whole  story,  beginning  with  my  early  stage- 
fright  and  ending  with  the  triumphant  climax,  when  I  crashed 
into  the  end  of  the  baths. 


142  Tell  England  book  i 

I  was  indulging  the  glorious  retrospect  when  there  broke 
upon  my  reverie  a  sullen  youth  who  said: 

"Well,  Ray,  we  haven't  won  it  after  all." 

There  was  a  hitch  in  my  understanding,  and  I  asked : 

"What  d>u  mean?" 

"You  were  disqualified." 

"I!"  It  was  almost  a  hair- whitening  shock.  "I!  What? 
Why?    What  for?" 

"They  say  you  dived  before  Johnson  touched  the  rope.  No- 
body believes  you  did." 

So  then;  I  had  lost  the  cup  for  Bramhall.  The  lie!  Too 
old  to  vent  suffering  in  tears,  I  showed  it  in  a  panting  chest, 
a  trembling  lip,  and  a  dry,  wide-eyed  stare  at  my  informant. 
Backed  by  a  disorder  outside,  he  repeated :  "Nobody  believes 
you  did." 

All  happiness  died  out  of  my  ken.  Conscious  only  of 
aching  limbs,  a  fluttering  heart,  uneven  breath,  and  a  bursting 
head,  I  cried: 

"I  didn't.     I  didn't.    Who  said  so?" 

"Fillet — Carpet  Slippers." 

"The  liar!  The  liar!"  I  muttered;  and,  with  a  sudden 
attack  of  something  like  cramp  down  my  left  side,  I  fell  into 
a  sitting  position,  and  thence  into  a  huddled  and  fainting  heap 
upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  X 

WATERLOO  CONTINUES :     THE  CHARGE  AT  THE  END  OF  THE  DAY 

§    I 

WHILE  I  was  recovering  there  fell  the  first  thunderdrops 
of  mutiny.  A  youth  at  the  back  of  the  gallery,  on 
intercepting  the  flying  message  that  Fillet  had  demanded  my 
disqualification  and  Jerry  Brisket  had  ended  by  supporting 
him,  roared  out  a  threatening  "NoT  Maybe,  had  he  not  done 
so,  there  would  never  have  been  the  great  Bramhall  riot.  But 
many  other  boys,  catching  the  contagion  of  his  defiance,  cried 
out  ''NoT  The  crowd,  recently  so  excited,  was  easily  flushed 
by  the  new  turn  of  events,  and  shouted  in  unison  ''NoT 
Isolated  voices  called  out  ''Cheat!"  "Liar!"  Dr.  Chapman, 
as  tactless  as  he  was  kindly,  declared  to  those  about  him 
that  Fillef  s  judgment  was  at  fault,  and  thus  helped  to  increase 
the  uproar.  The  disaffection  spread  to  the  Erasmus  men, 
who  said  openly:  ''We  don't  want  the  beastly  cup.  Bram- 
hall won  it  fair  and  square." 

And  then  came  the  report  that  I,  on  receiving  the  news, 
had  fainted.  This,  by  provoking  deeper  sympathy  with  the 
hero  and  greater  execration  of  the  villain,  acted  like  paraffin 
oil  on  the  flames.  Before  the  masters  realised  that  anything 
more  than  disappointment  was  abroad,  rebellion  looked  them 
in  the  face. 

Salome  saw  it  and  knew  that,  if  his  short  but  brilliant 
record  as  headmaster  was  not  to  be  abruptly  destroyed,  he 
must  rise  to  prompt  and  statesmanlike  action.  His  first  step 
was  to  summon  all  the  prefects  in  the  building  and  say : 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  men,  clear  the  baths." 

The  prefects  quickly  emptied  the  building  of  all  boys; 
but  outside  the  door  they  could  do  no  more  than  link  arms 
like  the  City  Police  and  keep  back  a  turbulent  mob.     Then 

143 


144  Tell  England  book  i 

Salome,  accompanied  by  Fillet,  Upton,  and  Radley,  passed 
with  dignity  through  his  pupils.  He  was  received  in  an 
ominous  silence. 

Now,  behind  this  revolt  there  was  a  hidden  hand;  and 
it  was  the  hand  of  Pennybet.  To  effect  a  coup  d'etat  and 
to  control  and  move  blind  forces  were,  we  know,  the  par- 
ticular hobbies  of  Pennybet.  Here  this  evening  he  found  blind 
disorder  and  rebellion,  which,  if  they  were  not  to  die  out 
feebly  and  expose  the  rebels  to  punishment,  must  be  guided 
and  controlled.  So  he  flattered  himself  he  would  take  over 
the  reins  of  mutiny,  and  hold  them  in  such  a  clandestine  man- 
ner that  none  should  recognise  whose  was  the  masterhand. 
He  would  cross  swords  with  Salome.  As  he  said  to  me 
the  following  day:  ''I  ran  that  riot,  Rupert,  and  I  never  en- 
joyed anything  so  much  in  my  life." 

His  method  outside  the  baths  was  to  keep  himself  in  the 
background  and  to  whisper  to  boys,  at  various  points  on  the 
circumference  of  the  vast  and  gathering  mob,  battle  orders, 
which  he  knew  would  be  quickly  circulated.  They  were  really 
his  own  composition,  but,  like  a  good  general  keeping  open 
his  means  of  retreat,  he  attributed  them  to  some  visionary 
people,  who,  in  the  event  of  failure,  could  bear  the  brunt  of 
the  insurrection. 

"Some  of  the  chaps  are  talking  about  a  real  organised  re- 
volt.    How  corking!" 

"The  idea  seems  to  be  that  it's  no  good  doing  anything, 
unless  it's  done  on  a  large  scale.  I  shall  stick  by  the  others 
and  see  what  they  do." 

"You're  to  pass  the  word,  they  say,  to  keep  massed.  I 
suppose  their  game  is  that  small  bodies  can  be  dispersed, 
but  we  can't  be  touched  if  we're  all  caked  together.  You'd 
better  pass  that  on  and  explain  it." 

"There  are  to  be  no  dam  black-legs.  I've  just  heard  that 
any  who  slink  off  will  be  mobbed." 

"What  are  we  waiting  for?  Can't  say.  Depends  who's 
managing  this  shindy.  You  can  be  sure  somebody's  organ- 
ising it,  and  we'll  do  what  the  others  do.     Toss  that  along." 

Really,  Penny  didn't  know  what  his  great  crowd  was  wait- 
ing for.  He  had  not  had  time  to  formulate  a  plan,  but  had 
contented  himself   with   keeping  his   forces   together.     And, 


PiJlT   II 


Waterloo  Continues  145 


while,  closely  compacted,  they  swayed  about,  unconscious  that 
they  were  the  plaything  of  one  cool  and  remarkable  boy,  he 
hit  upon  the  scheme  of  an  oifensive.  He  decided  that  it  would 
be  futile  to  fight  here,  where  all  the  school-prefects  were  con- 
centrated; it  would  be  better  to  transfer  the  attack  to  the 
courtyard  of  Bramhall  House,  where  only  the  Bramhall  pre- 
fects would  have  to  be  reckoned  with.  To  stay  here  was  to 
attempt  a  frontal  attack.  No,  he  would  retreat  as  a  feint,  and 
outflank  the  school-prefects  by  a  surprise  movement  in  the 
direction  of  Bramhall. 

"Have  you  heard?"  he  said.  "We're  all  to  disperse  and 
meet  again  in  five  minutes  in  Bramhall  courtyard.  I  wonder 
what's  in  the  wind." 

Penny  knew  that  not  a  single  boy  would  fail  to  arrive  at 
the  advertised  station,  if  only  to  see  what  was  in  the  wind; 
and  as  the  crowd  disintegrated  and  the  prefects  strolled  away, 
thinking  the  mutiny  had  petered  out,  he  murmured  to  him- 
self :    "A  crowd's  an  easy  thing  for  a  man  to  handle." 


§2 

So  it  was  that  there  was  silence  everywhere  when,  return- 
ing to  consciousness,  I  found  myself  in  the  empty  baths  with 
Dr.  Chapman  looking  down  upon  me. 

"One  day  we  must  thoroughly  overhaul  you,  young  man," 
he  said.  "There  may  be  a  weakness  at  your  heart.  How're 
you  feeling  now?" 

"Oh,  all  right,  thanks." 

"Bit  disappointed,  I  suppose?" 

"Rather!" 

"Frightfully   so?" 

I  didn't  answer.    His  words  filled  my  throat  with  a  lump. 

"Would  blub,  if  you  could,  but  can't,  eh?" 

The  question  nearly  brought  the  tears  welling  into  my  eyes. 
He  watched  them  swell,  and  said: 

"As  a  doctor,  I  should  tell  you  to  try  and  blub,  but,  as  an 
old  public-schoolboy,  I  should  say  Try  not  to.'  Do  which 
you  like,  old  man.    Both  are  right.    I'll  not  stay  to  see." 

And,  without  looking  round,  he  withdrew  from  the  building. 


146  Tell  England  book  i 

About  ten  minutes  later  I  found  myself  in  the  deserted 
playing  fields.  Knowing  nothing  of  any  breaches  of  the  peace, 
I  crossed  the  road  and  passed  through  the  gateway  into  the 
courtyard  of  Bramhall  House.  Immediately  a  great  roar  of 
cheers  went  up,  I  was  seized  by  excited  hands,  raised  on 
to  the  shoulders  of  several  boys,  and  carried  through  a  shout- 
ing multitude  to  the  boys'  entrance,  where  I  was  deposited 
on  the  steps. 

Probably  not  a  soul  knew  that  Salome  was  looking  down 
from  the  window  of  Fillet's  study  and  watching  the  effect 
of  my  arrival.  As  soon  as  the  theatre  of  hostilities  had  changed 
from  the  baths  to  Bramhall  House,  he,  too,  had  crossed  the 
road  and  entered  unobserved  by  Fillet's  private  doorway.  He 
'knew  well  enough  that  of  all  the  outposts  in  his  schools'  sys- 
tem of  discipline  Bramhall  was  the  weakest  held.  The  house 
was  under  the  sway  of  an  ineffective  master  with  a  stinging 
tongue;  and  trouble  would  have  stirred  long  ago  had  it  not 
been  for  the  heavy  hand  of  the  junior  house-master,  Radley, 
whom  Salome's  predecessor  had  placed  there  to  strengthen 
the  position.  And  insubordination  had  been  not  uncommon 
since  the  accession  of  the  too  genial  White  to  the  captaincy. 

In  justice  to  White  I  must  say  that,  if  he  had  been  present 
this  evening,  he  would  have  done  his  best  to  quell  the  dis- 
turbance. But  the  decision  of  the  judges  had  no  sooner 
reached  him  than  he  had  disappeared  from  the  sight  of  men. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  his  great  heart  was  breaking  in  the  privacy 
of  the  science  buildings.  The  only  other  house-prefects  were, 
strangely  enough,  the  redoubtable  Cully  and  Johnson,  who 
had  sought  consolation  by  retiring  together  to  a  cafe  in  the 
town.  So,  when  Salome  arrived  at  Fillet's  study,  there  were 
no  prefects  available  to  disband  the  rebels.  What  was  he  to 
do?  It  would  be  quite  inexpedient  for  a  master  to  venture 
himself  into  the  field  of  fire.  If  he  suffered  indignity,  severe 
punishment  would  be  necessary,  and  that  might  provoke  fur- 
ther defiance.  Then  again,  an  alien  prefect  from  another 
house  would  have  little  hope  of  success  on  Bramhall  territory. 
Truly  Salome  was  out  in  a  storm. 

Hardly  had  they  placed  me  on  the  steps,  very  surprised 
and  gratified,  before  Pennybet  roared  out: 

'Was  it  true  that  you  cheated,  as  Fillet  tried  to  make  out  ?" 


PAR'r  II 


Waterloo  Continues  147 


''No !"  I  cried. 

If  I  had  been  a  nobler  youth,  I  should  have  assumed  that 
Fillet  acted  conscientiously  from  a  mistake.  But  I  believed, 
and  wanted  to  believe,  that  his  had  been  a  piece  of  deliberate 
revenge;  that,  recalling  my  imitation  of  his  affliction,  he  had 
determined  to  rob  me  of  my  triumph.  So,  being  a  vindictive 
young  animal,  I  declared  to  the  mob  what  I  conceived  to  be 
the  truth.    And  all  of  them  agreed,  while  many  began  to  hoot. 

*'Now,  IVe  been  sent  by  some  boys  at  the  back,"  said 
Penny,  "to  tell  you  that  what  you've  got  to  do  is  to  go  up 
to  Fillet's  room  and  tender  him  a  mock-apology  for  losing 
the  Cup  for  his  house.  We're  to  cheer  ironically  and  hoot 
down  here,  and  make  a  hell  of  a  noise.  Then  if  he  says  'Are 
those  young  devils  cheering  you  or  hooting  me?'  you're  to 
say  'They're  doing  both,  sir.'  It's  a  good  scheme,  whoever 
invented  it,  because  he  can't  touch  you  for  civilly  apologising 
and  then  for  telling  the  truth  when  you  are  asked  a  question." 

The  idea  fired  me.  Aye,  it  would  be  good  to  attack  in  a 
last  charge  and  beat  old  Fillet,  while  I  had  all  his  house  in 
fighting  array  behind  me.  It  would  be  good  that  he,  who 
had  rejected  my  serious  apology,  should  be  obliged  to  hear 
my  contemptuous  one,  backed  by  the  tumult  and  hooting  of 
half  the  school.  Never  had  I  thought  that  my  decisive  vic- 
tory, for  which  I  had  waited  years,  would  assume  these  splendid 
proportions. 

Into  the  house  I  went,  flushed  and  determined,  and  quite 
unaware  that  by  invading  Fillet's  study  I  should  walk  into 
the  arms  of  the  head  master  himself.  Up  the  stairs  I  rushed, 
but,  as  I  set  foot  upon  the  first  landing,  Radley,  coming  out 
of  his  room,  stood  in  the  way  of  my  further  ascent. 

"Come  in  here  a  minute,"  he  said. 

"Sir,  I  can't " 

He  seized  me  by  the  right  wrist  and  swung  me  almost  brutally 
into  his  room.  I  was  a  muscular  stripling,  and  he  meant  me  to 
feel  his  strength.  Suddenly  disconcerted,  I  heard  the  door 
slam,  and  found  that  Radley  was  face  to  face  with  me.  My 
breast  went  up  and  down  with  uncontrollable  temper,  while  my 
wrist,  all  red  and  white  with  the  marks  of  powerful  fingers,  felt 
as  if  it  were  broken. 

"Where  were  you  going  ?"  he  demanded,  his  hard  mouth  set. 


148  Tell  England  book  i 

"To  Mr.  Fillet's  study,"  I  snapped,  purposely  omitting  the 
''sir/' 

"What  for?" 

"To  apologise  for  losing  the  Swimming  Cup." 

"In  a  spirit  of  sincerity  or  one  of  scoffing?" 

It  was  with  no  desire  for  veracity,  but  as  a  challenge  to  fight, 
that  I  replied :    "One  of  scoffing." 

"Good."  Radley's  grey  eyes  unveiled  some  of  their  gentle- 
ness, "you  can  tell  the  truth  still.  Now,  Ray,  the  shock  of  your 
disappointment  has  deprived  you  of  reason,  or  you,  of  all  peo- 
ple, would  see  that  this  tomfoolery  outside  is  unsportsmanlike 
in  the  extreme," 

"But,  sir,"  I  ventured,  surprised  and  rather  pleased  to  hear 
myself  mannerly  again,  "every  boy  declares  I  didn't  dive  too 
soon." 

"But  unfortunately,  Ray,"  replied  Radley,  also  pleased, 
"every  boy  was  not  appointed  a  judge,  and  your  housemaster 
was.  Now,  do  you  think  that  the  judge's  decision  can  be  over- 
ruled by  a  mere  counting  of  the  heads  that  disagree  with  him  ? 
I  put  it  to  you ;  undo  the  damage  you've  done  in  associating 
yourself  with  this  exhibition  outside — at  this  moment  you  wield 
more  influence  than  any  other  boy  in  the  school — go  out  and 
establish  order." 

"Sir,  I  can't,  sir.     I'm  their  sort  of  deputy." 

"Ray,  there's  a  wave  of  rebellion  outside,  and  you're  nothing 
more  important  than  the  foam  on  the  crest  of  the  wave.  Look 
here,  you're  a  magnificent  swimmer,  the  best  in  the  school  by  a 
long  way" — thus  came  the  word  of  praise  for  which  I  had 
hungered  so  long — "well,  a  good  swimmer  will  go  out  and 
breast  the  wave." 

As  he  said  it,  he  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  my  shoulder,  and  I 
felt,  as  I  did  once  before,  that  in  his  peculiar  sacramental  touch 
there  was  something  given  by  him  and  taken  by  me. 

"But,  sir,"  I  said,  desiring  to  justify  myself,  "I  couldn't  help 
thinking  that  Mr.  Fillet  did  it  on  purpose  to  pay  me  out." 

Radley  frowned.  "You  mustn't  say  such  things.  But,  were 
it  so,  any  fool  can  be  resentful,  while  it  takes  a  big  man  to 
sacrifice  himself  and  his  petty  quarrels  for  the  good  of  great 
numbers.  You  will  do  it  to  save  the  school  from  hurt.  I  have 
always  believed  you  big  enough  for  these  things." 


PART  H 


Waterloo  Continues  149 


My  answer  must  have  showed  Radley  how  sadly  I  was  less 
than  his  estimate  of  me. 

**But,  sir,  if  I  turn  back  now  they'll  say  I  funked." 

"Exactly ;  then  go  out  and  face  their  abuse.  Go  out  and  get 
hurt.  I'm  determined  your  life  shall  be  big,  so  begin  now  by 
learning  to  stand  buffeting.  Besides,  Ray,  does  it  matter  to  a 
strong  swimmer  if  the  wave  beats  against  him?" 

I  answered  nothing,  but  gazed  out  of  the  window.  And 
Radley  shot  another  appeal — a  less  lofty  one,  but  it  flew  home. 
Arrows  pierce  deeper,  if  they  don't  soar  too  high. 

*'Ray,  they'll  say  you  funked  your  master,  if  you  don't  go  up 
to  Mr.  Fillet's  study;  /  shall  say  you  funked  the  boys,  if  you 
don't  go  out  to  them.  You  must  choose  between  their  contempt 
and  mine." 

I  looked  down  at  my  boots. 

"Which  would  you  rather  have,  their  contempt  or  mine?" 

"Theirs,  sir." 

Radley  was  quite  moved  when  I  answered  him  thus ;  and  it 
was  a  little  while  before  he  proceeded : 

"I  might  have  stopped  your  access  to  Mr.  Fillet's  study  by 
telling  you  that  the  head  master  was  waiting  for  you  there. 
But  I  wanted  you  to  stop  from  your  own  high  motives,  and  not 
from  fear.     Come  along  now ;  we'll  go  together." 

We  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  study  and  entered.  Salome  at 
once  raised  his  long  figure  from  his  seat  and,  pointing  at  my  tie, 
said: 

"Ee,  bless  me,  my  man,  you're  very  slovenly;  put  your  tie 
straight." 

I  blushed  and  did  so. 

Then  he  turned  to  Radley. 

"Did  you  find  him  in  the  right  disposition  ?'* 

"Yes,  sir." 

It  would  not  have  been  I  if  at  this  "Yes,  sir"  of  Radley's  my 
mind  had  not  run  up  an  irrelevant  alley,  in  which  I  found 
myself  wondering  that  Radley,  who  was  always  called  "sir," 
should  ever  have  to  call  anyone  else  "sir."  Perhaps  I  was 
staring  dreamily  into  vacancy,  for  Salome  said : 

"Bless  me,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  that  his  disposition  is  all 
right.  But  is  the  boy  a  fool  ?  Why  does  he  stand  staring  into 
vacancy  like  a  brainless  nincompoop?" 


150  Tell  England 


BOOK    I 


1 4:urned  redder  than  ever  and  wondered  at  whom  to  look  so 
as  to  avoid  vacancy,  and  what  to  do  with  my  hands.  Nervously 
I  used  the  right  hand  to  button  up  my  coat,  and  then  put  it  out 
of  mischief  in  my  pocket. 

"Good  God,  man !"  cried  the  Head.  "Take  that  hand  out  of 
your  pocket !" 

I  took  it  quickly  out  and  unbuttoned  one  coat-button :  then, 
for  lack  of  something  to  do  with  the  hand,  did  the  button  up 
again.  I  decided  to  keep  the  miserable  member  fingering  the 
button.  To  make  matters  worse  Salome  rested  his  eyes  like  a 
searchlight  on  the  hand.  At  last  he  looked  distressingly  straight 
at  my  face. 

"Ray,"  he  asked,  "are  you  a  perfect  fool?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  said,  and  grinned. 

The  Head  turned  to  my  housemaster  for  his  testimony. 

"Mr.  Fillet,  is  the  boy  a  fool?" 

"One  couldn't  call  him  a  fool/'  replied  Fillet,  obviously 
intending  the  conclusion:  "One  might,  however,  call  him  a 
knave/' 

The  Head  turned  to  Radley. 

"Mr.  Radley,  isheafool?" 

"He's  anything  but  a  fool,  sir ;  and  he's  still  less  of  a  knave," 
said  Radley,  angry  and  caring  only  to  repudiate  Fillet's 
innuendo. 

"Ray,"  Salome  was  again  staring  me  out  of  countenance. 
"Do  you  ever  do  any  work?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  said  brightly.  It  was  kind  of  him  to  ask  ques- 
tions to  which  I  could  honestly  answer  in  the  affirmative.  I  did 
occasionally  do  some  work. 

"Mr.  Fillet?"  queried  Salome,  desiring  the  housemaster  to 
have  his  say. 

"I  suppose  there  are  idler  boys,"  announced  Fillet  grudg- 
ingly; and  it  was  open  to  anyone  to  hear  in  his  words  the 
further  meaning ;  "but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  many  more 
studious  and  more  deserving."  The  fact  is,  the  little  man  was 
irritated  that  Radley  should  have  tried  to  contradict  him  before 
the  Head. 

"Mr.  Radley?"  pursued  Salome,  as  though  he  were  bored 
with  the  evidence,  but  realised  that  everyone  must  be  allowed 
his  turn  to  speak. 


PART    II 


Waterloo  Continues  151 


"Ray  has  always  worked  well  for  me/'  Radley  promptly  an- 
swered, and  we  all  knew  he  meant  it  as  a  second  stab  for  Fillet. 

Salome  once  more  fixed  me  with  his  disconcerting  stare. 

**Ray/'  he  asked,  "have  you  any  glimmerings  of  moral 
courage  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  I,  wondering  where  the  conversation 
was  leading. 

The  Head,  apparently  tired  out  by  this  catechising,  contented 
himself  with  turning  his  face  in  the  direction  of  Fillet  for  his 
endorsement  or  denial. 

"He's  as  bold  as  they  make  'em,"  said  Fillet ;  and  this  time 
the  double  meaning  was  as  clear  as  before:  "the  boy  is  utterly 
shameless." 

The  Head  turtied  to  Radley,  who  answered  with  a  snap : 

"Yes,  he's  plenty  of  courage;  and  what's  better,  he's  easily 
shamed." 

"Bless  me,  are  you  any  good  whatever  at  games  ?"  continued 
the  weary  catechist. 

*1  can  swim  a  bit,  but  I'm  not  much  good  at  anything  else." 

"As  he  says,  he  swims  a  bit,"  corroborated  Fillet.  "But  I 
don't  know  what  else  he  can  do." 

"He's  the  best  swimmer  in  the  school,"  snapped  Radley,  "and 
will  one  day  be  the  best  bowler." 

"Well,  bless  me,  my  man,  have  you  any  position  or  influence 
with  your  schoolfellows  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"Hm !"  sneered  Fillet,  whose  temper  was  gone.  "He  has  his 
confederates.'' 

"Yes,"  said  Radley,  "he  has  a  very  loyal  following." 

I  think  it  pleased  the  drowsy  Head  to  see  two  of  his  masters 
boxing  over  the  body  of  one  of  his  boys. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "I'm  glad,  Ray,  to  hear  you  give  such  a 
good  account  of  yourself.  We  are  satisfied,  I  may  say,  with 
your  prowess  in  the  baths  this  evening — you  did  your  best, 
sir,  you  did  your  best — and  we  are  satisfied  with  the  attitude 
you  have  taken  up  in  regard  to  this  nonsensical  business 
outside " 

"But,  sir,"  I  began,  deprecatingly. 

"God  bless  me,  my  man,  don't  interrupt !  I  tell  you,  we  are 
satisfied.    We  don't  sigh  for  the  moon;  and  we're  not  talking 


152  Tell  England 


BOOK    I 


of  your  shortcomings.  We  haven't  time,  bless  me,  we  haven't 
time.  We're  only  talking  of  your  virtues,  which  won't  occupy 
many  minutes.  We  are  satisfied  that  you're  not  altogether  a 
fool — that  you  do  some  work — that  you  have  some  moral  cour- 
age— that  you're  an  athlete — and — what  else  was  the  matter 
with  him,  Mr.  Radley? — oh,  that  you  have  some  position  with 
your  schoolfellows.  We  make  you  a  house-prefect,  sir,  a  house- 
prefect." 

Staggered  beyond  measure,  I  suppose  I  showed  it  in  my  face, 
for  Salome  continued : 

"Ee,  my  man,  take  off  that  ridiculous  expression.  I  con- 
gratulate you,  sir — congratulate  you." 

And  I  mechanically  shook  hands  with  him.  Then  Radley 
gripped  my  fingers  and  nearly  broke  the  knuckle-bones.  Fillet 
also  formally  proffered  his  hand,  and  I  pressed  it  quite  heartily. 
It  was  no  good  gloating  over  a  man  when  he  was  down. 

After  this  ceremony  all  waited  for  Salome  to  clinch  proceed- 
ings, which  he  did  as  offensively  as  possible  by  saying : 

''Ee,  bless  me,  my  man,  don't  stand  there  idling  all  day.  Go 
out  at  once  and  establish  order." 

I  went  slowly  down  the  stairs  to  the  entrance,  and,  facing  the 
crowd,  was  greeted  with  a  fire  of  questions:  "Did  you  do  it?" 
"What  did  he  say?"  "How  did  he  take  it?"  "Didn't  you 
do  it?" 

"No,"  I  said,  and  there  was  a  temporary  silence. 

"Why  not?    Why  not?" 

"Because  it  wasn't  the  thing." 

While  no  more  eloquence  came  to  my  lips,  plenty  flowed  from 
those  of  the  boys  before  me.  For  a  moment  their  execration 
seemed  likely  to  turn  upon  me.    At  last  I  made  myself  heard. 

"You  see,"  I  shouted,  "only  cads  dispute  the  decision  of  the 
referee." 

"Yes,  but  there  are  exceptions  to  every  rule,"  said  Penny's 
voice. 

And  here  I  sipped  the  sweets  of  authority. 

"Well,  there  isn't  going  to  be  any  exception  in  this  case,"  I 
said. 

The  crowd  detected  something  humorous  in  my  high-handed 
sentence  and  laughed  sarcastically.  So,  giving  up  all  attempts 
to  be  persuasive,  I  said  bluntly : 


PART  II  Waterloo  Continues  153 

"Look  here,  Salome's  upstairs,  and  he's  made  me  a  prefect 
and  sent  me  down  to  establish  order." 

There  were  elements  of  greatness  in  Pennybet.  He  willingly 
acknowledged  that  the  coup  d'etat  was  not  his  but  Salome's, 
and  the  riot  must  inevitably  crumble  away.  So  he  made  a 
point  of  leading  the  cheers  that  greeted  my  announcement,  and, 
coming  forward,  was  the  first  to  congratulate  me.  His  example 
was  extensively  followed,  while  he  looked  on  approvingly,  as 
though  it  had  all  been  his  doing,  and  chirruped  every  now  and 
then:    "This  is  the  joUiest  day  IVe  spent  at  Kensingtowe." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  GREAT    MATCH 

THE  next  year  was  1914.  It  found  Pennybet  at  Sandhurst; 
Doe  brilliantly  high  in  the  Sixth  Form,  and,  since  he  was 
a  classical  scholar  and  a  poet,  first  favourite  for  the  Horace 
Prize.  In  the  cricket  annals  of  Kensingtowe  it  was  a  remark- 
able year.  Throughout  the  Summer  Term  victory  followed 
victory.  The  M.C.C.,  having  heard  of  Kensingtowe's  super- 
batsmen,  sent  a  strong  team  against  us,  which  went  under,  amid 
cheering  that  lasted  from  6  to  6.30  p.m.  The  Sportsman 
spoke  of  our  fast  bowler  and  captain  as  the  "Coming  Man.'' 
We  called  him  "Honion,"  partly  because  his  head,  being  per- 
fectly bald,  resembled  that  vegetable,  and  partly  because  he 
enjoyed  the  prefix  "The  Hon."  before  his  name.  Yes,  I  am 
speaking  of  the  Hon.  F.  Lancaster,  who  appeared  for  a  few 
moments  like  a  new  comet  in  the  cricket  heavens,  just  as  the 
thundercloud  of  war  blotted  everything  out.  When  the  cloud 
should  roll  away,  that  new  comet  would  be  no  longer  there. 

As  the  term  drew  to  its  close,  and  the  world  to  the  War,  the 
cricket  enthusiasm  possessing  Kensingtowe  focussed  itself  on 
the  annual  fixture,  "The  School  v.  The  Masters."  For  eight 
years  the  Masters,  thanks  to  their  captain,  Radley,  had  won 
with  ease.  The  previous  year  their  task  had  been  more  diffi- 
cult, for  the  shadow  of  "Honion"  was  already  looming.  This 
year  that  shadow  overspread  the  world. 

We  had  conquered  everywhere,  and  this  was  our  last  fixture. 
We  would  win:  we  must  win.  If  Radley  could  be  eliminated 
from  the  Masters'  team — if,  for  instance,  some  arsenic  could 
be  placed  in  his  tea — our  victory  would  be  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion. It  was  a  question  of  "Honion"  v.  Radley.  The  enthusi- 
asm swelled  and  burst  the  boundaries  of  the  school.     Local 

154 


PART    II 


The  Great  Match  166 


papers  took  up  the  subject.  London  papers,  in  small-print 
paragraphs,  copied  them.  Party  feeling  ran  quite  high  outside 
the  school :  Middlesex  supporters  desired  the  triumph  of  the 
Masters,  which  would  be  the  triumph  of  S.  T.  Radley,  their 
hero ;  Sussex  supporters  backed  the  School,  for  they  knew  that 
"Honion'*  Lancaster  was  to  come  to  them.  There  was  no  party 
within  the  school,  the  school  being  solid  for  "The  School." 

One  day  Radley  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder. 

"Why  don't  you  try  to  get  in  the  Team  V*  asked  he.  "You're 
the  best  bowler  in  the  Second  Eleven.'* 

I  grinned,  and  represented  that  such  a  consummation  was  of 
all  earthly  things  impossible. 

"I  don't  see  why,"  said  he.  "The  school's  batting  talent  is 
great,  but  the  bowling's  weak." 

Ye  God3 !     Had  he  ever  heard  of  Honion? 

"O,  sir,"  I  remonstrated,  "but  our  strength  lies  in  Honion — in 
Lancaster,  I  mean." 

Radley  smiled. 

"What  other  bowler  of  any  class  have  you?" 

It  was  true.  I  mentioned  Moles  White  as  a  fine  slow  bowler, 
and  could  think  of  no  more  "star-turns." 

"Well,  you  come,"  said  Radley,  "and  bowl  at  my  private  net 
every  evening.  Your  leg-breaks  are  teasers.  I  was  talking  to 
Lancaster  this  morning,  and  he  says  he  doesn't  know  who  will 
be  the  last  man  of  the  Eleven.     Why  shouldn't  it  be  you  ?" 

So  evening  after  evening  I  bowled  to  Radley,  who  coached 
me  enthusiastically.  I  think  that  he  was  making  a  fascinating 
hobby  of  training  his  favourite  pupil  for  the  Team,  much  as 
an  owner  delights  in  running  a  favourite  horse  for  the  Derby. 
And,  when  one  evening  I  uprooted  his  leg-stump  twice  in  suc- 
cession, he  said : 

"Good.     Now  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see." 

In  the  meantime  Lancaster  had  buttonholed  Doe. 

"You  used  to  be  a  great  cricketer,  usedn't  you?" 

"When  I  was  a  boy,  Honion,"  said  Doe. 

"And  you've  slacked  abominably." 

"Thou  sayest  so,  Honion." 

"Well,  my  son,  the  last  place  in  the  Team  is  vacant.  You 
should  be  too  good  for  the  Second.  Practise  like  fury,  and  the 
situation's  yours." 


156  Tell  England  book  i 


§2 

"What  do  you  think,  Doe?"  said  I.  "Radley's  making  me 
sweat  to  get  into  the  Team." 

A  momentary  pain  and  jealousy  overspread  Doe's  face. 
Quickly  passing,  it  gave  place  to  a  whimsical  glance,  as  he 
rejoined : 

"What  do  you  think?    Honion's  doing  the  same  with  me." 

"Look  here,  then,"  said  I,  as  much  despairingly  as  generously, 
"ril  stand  down.     Youll  be  fifty  times  better  than  I  shall." 

"You  won't  do  anything  of  the  sort.  Don't  you  see  Radley's 
running  you  as  a  candidate  to  spite  me?  No,  we'll  fight  this 
out,  you  and  I.  Shake  on  it,  and  good  luck  to  your  candi- 
dature!" 

"You  ripping  old  tragedy  hero !"  answered  I.  "Good  luck  to 
yours." 

Now,  all  Kensingtowe  amused  itself  speculating  who  would 
be  the  last  man.  Many  names  were  mentioned,  but  Ray  was 
not  one  of  them.  Bets  were  made,  and  the  odds  were  slightly 
in  favour  of  Doe.  The  sentiment  of  the  school  said  that  he 
ought  to  be  played  on  the  strength  of  the  brilliant  things  he 
might  do. 

The  match  drew  nearer,  and  the  secret  as  to  the  last  man 
was  severely  kept,  if,  indeed,  any  decision  had  been  come  to. 
But  Doe  was  establishing  himself  as  favourite.  Every  day  a 
crowd  surrounded  the  Second  Eleven  net,  where  he,  with  his 
face  suffused  in  colour  and  his  hair  glistening  with  moisture, 
was  striving  to  create  the  necessary  impression.  Honion,  as 
general,  surrounded  by  his  staff-officers  in  their  caps  and 
colours,  sometimes  stood  by  the  net  and  pulled  his  chin  con- 
templatively. And,  if  Doe  made  a  fine  off-drive,  all  the  on- 
lookers (and  Doe  himself)  turned  and  glanced  at  Honion,  as 
though  for  a  sign  from  Heaven.  But  the  great  man's  face 
betrayed  no  emotion. 

On  the  day  before  the  match,  which  was  to  be  a  one-day 
game,  Honion  might  have  been  seen  crossing  the  field  from  the 
pavilion,  where  a  council  of  waE  had  just  concluded.  He  was 
approaching  the  school-buildings,  and,  like  the  Pied  Piper,  had 


PART  11  The  Great  Match  167 

an  enormous  crowd  of  small  boys  at  his  back.  In  his  hand  was 
the  paper  which  bore  the  list  of  the  Team. 

"Who  is  it?    Who  is  it?''  demanded  the  crowd. 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  Lancaster,  as  great  captains  do. 

And  at  that  moment  a  first  spot  of  rain  fell.  Honion  looked 
up  apprehensively  at  a  clouding  sky.  "I  thought  so,"  said  he ; 
and  the  weighty  words  were  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

The  multitude  swelled  as  the  Captain  drew  near  the  notice- 
boards.  Rumour  stalked  abroad  and  loudly  proclaimed  that 
the  lot  had  fallen  upon  Doe.  That  young  cricketer  was  walking 
with  me  at  the  tail  of  the  procession,  very  nervous  but  fairly 
confident.  As  for  me,  my  heart  was  fluttering,  and  there  was 
an  emptiness  within. 

"Come  and  tell  me  who  it  is,"  I  said  to  Doe.  "You'll  find 
me  trembling  like  a  frightened  sparrow  in  the  study." 

With  that  I  left  him,  and,  going  to  our  study,  stood  gazing 
out  of  the  window  at  a  sudden  shower  of  rain.  To  nerve  my- 
self for  any  shock  of  disappointment  I  muttered  monotonously 
some  old  words  of  Radley's:  "Does  it  matter  to  a  strong 
swimmer  if  the  wave  beats  against  him  ?    Does  it  matter — does 

it  matter "    Soon  a  roar  of  many  voices  was  heard  in  the 

distance.  The  list  was  up.  I  could  not  tell  whether  they  were 
cheering  in  triumph  or  groaning  in  dismay.  Then  someone  ran 
along  the  corridor  and  burst  in.  I  remained  looking  out  of  the 
window  lest  the  expression  on  my  friend's  face  should  betray 
the  secret  which  I  longed  but  dreaded  to  hear. 

"My  dear  old  fellow,"  said  he,  "it's " 

It  was  coming  now.    What  a  long  time  he  took  to  tell  it. 

"It's  your 

"Good  Lord!" 

I  had  swung  round  on  him. 

"And  I  hope  you  take  all  the  wickets,"  said  he,  with  a  smile 
of  generosity  that  he  wished  me  to  observe. 

I  couldn't  speak,  but  turned  again  to  look  out  of  the  window. 
The  rain  was  beating  heavily  against  the  panes.  And  Doe  said 
nothing  till,  being  in  a  chastened  mood,  he  resumed : 

"I  think  you'll  always  cut  me  out,  Rupert,  because  you're  the 
solid  stuff,  while  I'm  all  show.  You  left  me  nowhere  in 
Radley's  good  books,  and  now  in  cricket " 

"But  you  leave  me  nowhere  in  brain- work,"   objected  I, 


158  Tell  England  book  i 

feeling  that  the  handsome  appreciation,  which  he  had  tossed  to 
me,  ought  to  be  returned  like  a  tennis  ball. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,  there  is  that,''  he  assented.  "And  I  may 
yet  have  won  the  Horace  Prize." 

Just  then  the  kindly  White,  coming  to  express  his  sympathy, 
broke  into  the  study  and  exclaimed  : 

"Well,  weVe  boosted  you  out  all  right,  Doe." 

"Why,  had  I  been  chosen  at  one  time,  then?"  asked  Doe, 
seizing  upon  this  little  sop  to  his  pride. 

"Of  course,  but  look  at  the  rain.  It'll  be  a  bowlers'  wicket, 
and  the  Skipper's  done  a  daring  thing.  The  school's  never 
known  it,  but  Ray's  been  our  difficulty,  ever  since  Radley 
started  booming  him." 

Doe  brought  his  lips  firmly  together,  and  turned  on  me  with  a 
bright  smile. 

"Radley's  won  this  journey,"  he  said,  "but  let  him  know  I 
was  the  first  to  congratulate  you." 


§3 

By  ten  o'clock  on  the  Great  Day  a  huge  crowd  had  assem- 
bled, including  visitors,  parents,  old  boys,  and  quite  a  mmiber 
of  Pressmen.  Pennybet  arrived,  invested  with  all  the  sleek 
majesty  that  Sandhurst  could  give  him:  and,  seeking  out  Doe 
and  myself,  he  lent  us  the  dignity  of  his  presence. 

At  about  half-past-ten  Radley  came  to  the  nets  for  a  little 
practice,  and  most  of  us  walked  up  to  see  what  sore  of  form  he 
was  showing.  I  was  feeling  a  little  shy  in  my  Second  Eleven 
colours  and  convinced  that  all  the  ladies  were  asking  why  my 
blazer  was  different  from  the  others.  Pennybet  quickly  saw 
that  I  was  sensitive  on  this  point,  and,  with  his  cruel  humour, 
began  emphasising  the  little  difficulty:  '*Ray,  how  comes  it 
that  your  blazer's  unlike  the  others?  It's  very  noticeable, 
isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  urged  I,  blushing  over  face  and  neck  and 
throat. 

"All  the  ladies,"  continued  my  torturer,  "will  notice  it  and 
pity  you,  saying  'Isn't  he  lovely  ?'  " 

I  ignored  him  and  devoted  my  attention  to  watching  Radley, 


PART    II 


The  Great  Match  159 


as  he  took  his  place  at  the  net,  where  Honion  was  bowling.  It 
was  clear  that  he  did  not  underestimate  Honion's  express  de- 
liveries, for  he  rolled  up  his  sleeve,  displaying  a  massive  fore- 
arm that  alarmed  us  seriously;  re-arranged  his  rubber  bat- 
handle  ;  placed  his  bat  firmly  in  the  block ;  and  faced  Honion. 

The  silence  spoke  of  the  importance  of  the  moment;  Lan- 
caster, our  captain,  was  measuring  himself  with  Radley.  He 
took  his  long  run  and  bowled.  Radley,  with  little  apparent 
effort,  drove  the  ball  out  of  the  net-mouth  to  the  far  end  of  the. 
field,  and  re-commenced  attending  to  his  bat-handle. 

*'Oh,  the  full-blooded  villain!"  exclaimed  Penny. 

Someone  handed  Honion  another  ball,  and  he  bowled.  Rad- 
ley hit  it  with  great  force  into  the  net  on  the  off  side.  Our 
spirits  sank.  Honion  was  good ;  he  was  great ;  but  he  was  not 
great  enough  for  Radley. 

The  third  ball  Radley  tapped  straight  to  where  I  was  stand- 
ing, and  I  fielded  it. 

"Bowl,"  said  he. 

I  did  not  wish  to  do  so,  but  it  was  impossible  to  disobey.. 
And,  as  I  prepared  to  bowl,  the  silence  became  eloquent  again. 
The  new  man,  the  eleventh-hour  bowler,  was  measuring  himself 
with  Radley.  I  realised  that  my  first  ball  teased  him.  My 
second  laid  his  leg-stump  on  the  ground.  A  yell  of  joy  showed 
to  what  a  height  the  spirits  of  the  crowd  had  risen.  But  mine 
sank  in  proportion :  I  should  never  bowl  him  out  twice  in  one 
day.  .  .  . 

The  bell  rang,  and  the  field  was  cleared. 

All  over  the  ground  there  was  an  anticipatory  silence,  which 
made  the  striking  of  the  school-clock  sound  wonderfully  loud. 
Then  an  ovation  greeted  Lancaster,  as  he  led  his  classic  team 
on  to  the  ground. 

The  Masters  had  won  the  toss,  and  the  two,  who  were  to  open 
the  batting,  left  the  pavilion  amid  applause,  and  assumed  their 
places  at  the  wicket.  Lancaster  placed  his  field,  bowled  a 
lightning  ball,  and  splintered  an  old  Oxonian's  middle  stump. 

Here  was  excitement !  Delirious  boys  prophesied  that  eight 
years'  defeats  would  be  wiped  off  the  slate  by  the  school's  dis- 
missing the  Masters  for  a  handful  of  runs,  scoring  a  great 
score,  and  then  dismissing  them  again,  so  as  to  win  an  innings 
victory.    But  stay !    Who  is  this  coming  in  first- wicket-down  ? 


160  Tell  England  book  i 

Not  Radley  ?  Yes,  by  heaven,  it  is !  He  has  come  to  see  that 
no  rot  sets  in.  Now,  Honion,  you  may  well  spit  on  your  hands. 
A  laugh  trembles  its  way  round  the  spectators,  as  Lancaster 
places  his  men  in  the  deep  field.  He  is  ready  to  be  knocked 
about. 

The  first  over  closes  for  ten,  all  off  Radley's  bat,  two  fours 
and  a  two.  The  new  bowler,  White,  deals  in  slows,  and  the 
scoring  partakes  of  the  nature  of  the  bowling.  But  the  out- 
standing fact  of  that  over  is  this :  that  Radley  hit  the  last  ball 
with  terrific  force  along  the  ground,  and  it  was  so  brilliantly 
fielded  and  thrown  in  that  it  scattered  the  stumps  before  Radley, 
who  had  started  to  run,  could  reach  the  crease.  Suddenly, 
crisply,  half  a  thousand  mouths  snapped  out  the  query: 
''How's  that  r' 

''Out/' 

With  great  good-humour  Radley  continued  his  run  a  little 
way,  but  in  the  direction  of  the  pavilion.  Boys  stood  up  and 
clapped  frantically,  not  a  few  seizing  their  neighbours  and 
pummelling  them  with  clenched  fists  on  the  back.  Pennybet, 
sitting  beside  Doe,  shook  hands  with  him  and  with  a  couple  of 
undemonstrative  old  gentlemen,  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before.  They  seemed  a  little  overawed,  as  he  wrung  their 
hands. 

By  one  o'clock  the  Masters  were  out,  having  compiled  the 
diminutive  score  of  99.  Not  once  had  they  been  asked  to  face 
my  bowling.  Honion  and  White  shared  the  wickets  between 
them. 

Now  the  only  question  was :  would  the  school  be  able  to  beat 
them  by  an  innings,  and  so  crown  their  glorious  season  ?  They 
had  better,  for  the  onlookers  would  be  content  with  nothing 
less. 

Everyone  adjourned  for  lunch.  The  noise  in  the  dining 
halls,  which  the  masters  made  no  attempt  to  check,  was  tre- 
mendous, since  all  were  offering  their  forecasts  of  the  result. 
But  this  fact  was  universally  accepted :  the  School  Eleven  would 
play  carefully  till  they  had  scored  a  hundred  runs  and  so 
passed  the  Masters'  total,  after  which  they  would  adopt  forcing 
tactics  and  lift  the  score  over  300.  Then  they  would  declare, 
and  bowl  the  Masters  out  for  a  price  under  the  spare  200  runs. 
Thus  the  innings  victory  would  be  achieved. 


PART  II  The  Great  Match  161 


§4 

The  most  eflfective,  the  most  spectacular,  and  probably  the 
worst  innings  of  the  School  Eleven  was  that  played  by  Moles 
White.  He  dragged  his  elephantine  form  to  the  wicket,  and, 
looking  round  with  his  genial  smile,  prepared  to  enjoy  the 
Masters'  bowling.  Again  and  again  he  lifted  the  ball  high  into 
the  air  and  grinned  as  master  after  master  dropped  the  catches. 
It  was  a  method  that  could  only  have  been  successful  in  such  a 
match  as  this,  where  the  field  had  been  taken  by  a  team  like  the 
Masters,  whose  ''tail''  was  quite  out  of  practice  and  rather  stiff 
in  the  joints. 

Every  vigorous  hit  of  White's,  even  if  it  soared  skyward, 
was  cheered  with  loud  cries  of  *'Good  old  Moles !"  Every  time 
his  unpardonable  catches  were  dropped,  the  acclamations  were 
lost  in  laughter.  And  when  with  a  splendid  stroke  he  lifted  the 
score  over  the  Masters'  total  and  into  three  figures.  White 
enjoyed  the  triumph  of  his  school  career. 

By  this  time  there  was  collected  behind  the  railings  that 
surround  Kensingtowe  a  fine  crowd  of  carters  and  cabmen, 
who  had  "woahed"  their  horses  and  were  standing  on  their 
boxes,  enjoying  an  excellent  view.  They  had  no  idea  what  the 
match  was,  or  who  were  winning,  but  every  time  they  heard  the 
boys  begin  to  cheer,  they  waved  their  hats,  brandished  their 
whips,  and  cheered  and  whistled  as  well.  The  excellent  fellows 
only  knew  that  the  great  crowd  of  young  gents  was  happy, 
and  were  benignantly  pleased  to  share  their  happiness. 

White  made  his  fifty  and  was  bowled  in  attempting  the  most 
abominable  of  blind-swipes.  He  returned  towards  the  pavilion, 
so  far  forgetting  himself  in  his  pleasure  as  to  swing  about  his 
bat  like  a  tennis-racket.  What  thunderous  applause  he  re- 
ceived! It  was  his  last  term,  and  his  last  match.  And  I  am 
glad  that  the  final  picture,  which  our  memory  preserves  of 
White  alive,  shows  us  the  sterling  oaf  departing  after  a  glorious 
innings,  surrounded  by  uproarious  school-fellows,  and  smiling 
as  only  the  righteous  can.  Grand  old  boy,  may  we  meet  many 
more  like  you ! 

By  a  quarter  to  five  the  School  total  had  reached  the  aston- 
ishing figure  of  350.    To  this  I  had  contributed  4,  with  which  I 


162  Tell  England  book  i 

was  very  satisfied,  as  it  was  four  more  than  I  expected.  Lan- 
caster declared,  and  the  school  by  its  applause  endorsed  the 
decision. 

Now,  how  did  the  position  stand  ?  Stumps  were  to  be  drawn 
at  7.30.  To  save  the  innings  defeat  the  Masters  must  score 
over  250  in  two  hours  and  a  half.  An  impossible  achievement 
— a  hundred  to  one  on  an  innings  defeat !  But  would  they  all 
be  bowled  out  in  the  little  time  left  ?  With  luck,  and  Honion 
in  form,  yes.  And  luck  was  with  us,  and  Honion  in  great  form 
this  afternoon.    Oh,  a  thousand  to  one  on  an  innings  defeat ! 


§5 

The  School  took  the  field  without  unnecessary  delay,  and 
Radley  opened  the  Masters'  innings.  They  were  going  to  make 
a  fight  of  it,  then.  But  the  School  had  set  its  heart  on  the 
innings  victory,  and  the  team  had  the  moral  strength  derived 
from  the  concentrated  determination  of  six  hundred  boys. 
What  had  the  Masters  to  oppose  this?  Nothing  save  Radley 
and  a  handful  of  tarnished  Blues. 

It  is  stated  that  the  third  innings  of  the  day  opened  like  this : 
Honion  started  on  a  longer  run  than  usual,  as  if  to  terrify  this 
Radley  fellow.  The  latter,  so  an  enormous  number  declared, 
though  I  contend  they  were  mistaken,  started  to  run  at  the 
same  time  as  the  bowler,  and,  meeting  the  ball  at  full-pitch, 
smote  it  for  six.  The  jubilant  expectations  of  the  crowd, 
always  as  sensitive  as  the  Stock  Exchange,  fluctuated.  The 
second  ball  was  square-cut  more  quietly  for  four.  The  third 
was  driven  high  over  the  bowler's  head  and  travelled  to  the 
boundary-rope.  Honion  placed  a  man  at  the  spot  where  the 
ball  passed  the  rope,  and  sent  down  a  similar  delivery.  Radley 
pulled  it,  as  a  great  laugh  went  up,  to  the  very  spot  from  which 
the  fieldsman  had  been  removed.  Eighteen  in  four  balls !  The 
spirits  of  the  crowd  drooped. 

Penny,  at  his  place  with  Doe,  began  to  sulk,  saying  he  was 
sick  of  it  all,  and  wished  he  hadn't  come. 

"Oh,  rot,"  said  Doe,  "they  haven't  put  our  Rupert,  the  dark 
horse,  on  yet.  I'm  afraid  all  that's  rotten  in  me  is  wanting  him 
to  be  a  failure.     I  can't  help  it,  and  I'm  trying  to  hope  he'll 


PART    II 


The  Great  Match  163 


come  off.  If  he  does,  FU  bellow!  Over.  White's  going  to 
bowl  now.^ 

The  ground  apparently  favoured  the  slow  bowler,  for  the 
first  wicket  fell  to  White's  second  ball.  But  the  victim,  sad  to 
tell,  was  not  Radley. 

Hush — oh,  hush.  The  head  master  was  coming  out  to  part- 
ner Radley!  And,  considering  the  silence  of  respect  with 
which  he  was  greeted,  I  think  Salome  scarcely  behaved  becom- 
ingly.   He  hit  an  undignified  boundary  for  four. 

**Ee,  bless  me,  my  man !"  whispered  the  wits. 

But  Salome,  ignorant  of  this  mild  flippancy,  actually  under- 
took to  run  a  vulgar  five  for  an  overthrow :  and  by  like  methods 
succeeded  in  amassing  a  score  of  runs  in  a  dozen  minutes. 

Meanwhile,  Radley,  who  from  the  beginning  had  taken  his 
life  in  his  hands,  was  flogging  the  bowling.  He  and  Salome 
quickly  added  fifty  to  the  Masters'  total. 

But  Salome's  bright  young  life  was  destined  to  be  curtailed. 
A  straight,  swift  ball  from  Honion  he  stopped  with  his  instep, 
and  promptly  obeyed  two  laws  which  operate  in  such  circum- 
stances :  the  one  compelling  him  to  execute  a  pleasing  dance  and 
rub  the  injured  bone ;  and  the  other  involving  his  return  to  the 
pavilion  (l.b.w.)  in  favour  of  the  succeeding  batsman. 

At  this  interesting  development  Penny  bobbed  up  and  down 
in  his  seat  with  glee.  "Ee,  bless  me !  Ee,  hang  me !  Ee,  curse 
me!"  he  chirruped.  '*He's  bust  the  bone.  He'll  never  walk 
again.  Probably  mortification  will  set  in,  and  he'll  have  his 
foot  off.  Next  man  in,  please.  Oh,  I  never  enjoyed  anything 
so  much  in  my  life." 

The  following  two  wickets  were  shared  by  Honion  and 
White,  and  the  score  stood  at  90  for  four,  when  the  school 
chaplain  approached  the  wicket.  This  reverend  gentleman 
walked  to  his  place  with  zealous  rapidity,  and  proceeded  to 
propagate  the  gospel  with  some  excellent  hits  to  leg.  Three 
such  yielded  him  nine  runs,  and  at  the  end  of  the  over  he  found 
himself  facing  Honion's  bowling.  The  temporary  dismay  of 
the  crowd  disappeared.  Honion,  it  was  conjectured,  would 
soon  send  the  parson  indoors  to  evensong.  But  the  conjecture 
was  faulty.  Honion  instead  was  sent  for  a  two,  a  boundary, 
and  a  single. 


164  Tell  England 


BOOK    I 


*'Curse  me!"  grumbled  Penny.  "It's  not  in  the  best  taste  for 
the  learned  divine  to  play  like  any  godless  layman.  Has  he 
nothing  better  to  do  ?    Are  there  no  souls  to  save  ?" 

"No,  but  there's  a  match  to  save/'  suggested  Doe. 

There  was  perhaps  some  justification  for  Penny's  indigna- 
tion, when  this  indecent  ecclesiastic  scored  two  fours  in  succes- 
sion, and  by  his  beaming  face  and  intermittent  giggle  showed 
that  he  was  feeling  a  very  carnal  satisfaction  in  sending  ten 
members  of  his  congregation,  one  after  another,  in  search  of 
the  ball.  Ultimately  he  was  caught  low  down  in  the  slips,  hav- 
ing compiled  an  excellent  thirty;  and  he  walked  off,  hardly 
concealing  a  smile. 

As  he  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  pavilion,  Upton  came  down, 
drawing  on  his  gloves  and  ready  to  prove  that  Erasmus  could 
exhibit  very  creditable  pedagogues,  as  well  as  Bramhall.  This 
slender,  grey-haired  master  with  the  ruddy  countenance  was 
much  favoured  by  the  ladies.  He  looked  a  young  and  blooming 
veteran.  The  boys  of  Erasmus  gave  him  a  cheer  ( for  he  was  a 
good  man)  and  prayed  that  he  might  not  survive  the  first  ball. 
He  did,  however,  and  held  his  end  up  in  dogged  fashion, 
leaving  Radley  to  develop  the  score,  and  only  occasionally 
taking  a  modest  four  for  himself. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Radley  got  under  a  ball  and  sent 
a  chance  whizzing  towards  me.  It  flew  high,  and  I  shot  up  my 
left  hand  for  it.  The  ball  hit  me  right  in  the  centre  of  the  palm 
with  such  force  that  it  stung  most  painfully,  and  I  had  not  the 
least  hesitation  in  dropping  it.  Ther^  were  groans  of  dis- 
appointment from  the  males,  execrations  from  Penny,  and 
murmurs  of  sympathy  and  love  from  the  female  portion  of  the 
crowd.  But  my  sensations  were  again  the  opposite  to  the 
crowd's.  The  pain  in  my  hand  was  exactly  the  same  as  when 
Radley  caned  me  years  before  on  the  left  hand:  and  I  was 
reminded  of  the  scene.  "Put  up  your  left  hand,"  he  had  said 
sarcastically.  "You'll  need  the  other  for  writing  your  lines." 
Now  I  had  accidentally  put  up  my  left.  It  was  surely  because 
I  should  need  the  other  for  bowling  him  out.  Such  strange 
alleys  do  my  thoughts  run  along  when  I  am  woolgathering  in 
the  field. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Honion  was  by  this  time  a  failure. 


PART   II 


The  Great  Match  165 


Radley  was  doing  what  he  liked  with  the  bowling.  By  six- 
thirty  the  score  stood  at  i8o,  and  the  Masters  only  required  70 
to  save  them  from  the  innings  defeat.  There  was  an  hour 
before  them,  and  they  had  five  wickets  in  hand.  But  the  light 
was  not  so  good.     We  might  do  it  yet. 

Thirty  minutes  of  that  last  hour  passed,  and  in  them  forty 
runs  were  scored  at  a  cost  of  three  wickets.  So  there  was  half 
an  hour  left  to  play,  two  wickets  in  hand,  and  thirty  runs  to  get. 

The  ninth  man  failed  at  a  quarter  past  seven,  leaving  the 
score  at  225.  It  rested,  then,  with  Radley  and  the  last  man  to 
make  25  in  fifteen  minutes  and  a  bad  light. 

The  schoolboy  crowd  was  suffering ;  and,  when  Radley  smote 
Honion  for  a  six,  the  suffering  became  agony.  Some  drastic 
step  must  be  taken. 

Suddenly  a  shrill- voiced  boy  sang  out : 

'Tut  Ray  on.    Give  Ray  a  chance." 

The  crowd  took  it  up  and  roared  out  its  instructions  to  put 
Ray  on.  Bad  form,  I  grant  you,  but  then  they  scarcely  knew 
what  they  were  doing,  for  they  were  in  an  ecstasy  of  suspense 
and  excitement.  The  cry  became  formidable.  "Put  Ray  on." 
My  face  felt  as  if  it  had  been  scorched  at  the  fire.  One  boy 
roared  out:     ''VLoo-Ray,  hoo-Ray,  hoo-blooming-i?ay.''' 

The  crowd  laughed,  and,  while  many  inquired  of  one 
another:  "What  did  he  say?  Do  tell  me,"  the  majority 
adopted  the  cry  as  a  slogan. 

"Hoo-i^a^^,  hoo-i^ay,  hoo-blooming-i?ay.'" 

Our  captain  deferred  to  the  voice  of  public  opinion. 

"Take  next  over  this  end,  Ray,"  he  said. 

The  permission  was  belated  enough.  When  amid  terrific 
applause  I  faced  Radley,  there  were  only  fourteen  runs  to  be 
made  and  ten  minutes  to  play. 

But,  then,  I  had  only  one  wicket  to  take.  The  pulsations  of 
my  heart  were  rapid — but  dull,  deliberate,  and  heavy  as  a 
strong  man's  fist.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  not  eaten  anything  for 
weeks,  nor  was  ever  likely  to  eat  again.  Honion  shook  his 
head;  he  saw  that  I  was  trembling.  Radley  smiled  encour- 
agingly. White  said :  "For  God's  sake,  Ray,  pull  it  off."  And 
I  murmured:  "Right.  Til  try."  I  was  surprised  at  the  way 
my  voice  shook. 


166  Tell  England  book  i 

I  took  a  quiet  run  (though  my  feet  sounded  noisily  on  the 
turf,  owing  to  the  breathless  silence)  and  bowled. 

''Wider 

The  crowd  laughed,  but  it  was  the  laugh  of  despair.  My 
second  ball  Radley  hit  for  four.  My  third  followed  it  to  the 
boundary. 

*'This'll  be  Ray's  last  over,"  said  the  witty  critics.  It  was. 
There  were  only  five  more  runs  to  be  made.  The  ladies,  pre- 
paring for  departure,  drew  on  their  gloves.  Sedate  gentlemen, 
who  had  removed  top-hats  from  perspiring  brows,  brushed  the 
silk  with  their  sleeves.  Within  a  few  minutes  the  innings 
victory  would  be  won  or  lost. 

Despair  cured  me  of  nerves.  I  bowled  my  fourth  ball  with- 
out any  excitement.  Radley  f lunbled  and  missed  it.  He  smiled 
grimly,  twisted  his  bat  round,  adjusted  the  handle,  and  resumed 
his  position  at  the  block. 

Murmurs  of  **Well  bowled''  reached  me:  and  so  silent  was 
the  crowd  and  so  still  the  evening,  that  I  heard  a  voice  saying 
to  someone:  "That  was  a  good  ball,  wasn't  it?  Absolutely 
beat  him.     In  a  light  like  this " 

Now  I  was  trembling,  if  you  like.  But  it  was  not  nerves. 
It  was  confidence  that  the  supreme  moment  of  my  schooldays 
was  upon  me.  I  picked  up  the  ball,  muttering  repeatedly  but 
unconsciously :  ''O  God,  make  me  do  it."  I  turned  and  faced 
Radley.  As  I  took  my  short  run,  I  felt  perfectly  certain  that  I 
should  bowl  him.  And  the  next  thing  I  remember  was  seeing 
my  master's  leg-bail  fall  to  the  ground. 

All  together,  none  before  and  none  after  the  other,  every 
male  in  the  crowd  bellowed  forth  the  accumulated  excitement 
of  the  day : 

''OUT!" 

§6 

Not  for  half  an  hour  that  evening  did  the  cheering  cease  or 
the  mass  of  boys  b^in  to  disperse.  Even  then  there  were 
little  outbreaks  of  fresh  cheering  coming  from  separate  groups. 
A  line  of  day-boys,  who  had  linked  arms  as,  homeward  bound, 
they  left  the  field,  droned  merrily : 


PART  11  The  Great  Match  167 

"Now  the  day  is  over, 
Night  is  drawing  nigh, 
Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky." 

And  among  the  dissolving  cheers  from  the  distance  could 
occasionally  be  heard  the  refrain  of 

"Hoo-T^ay,  hoo-i^a^;,  hoo-blooming-i^ay/"' 


CHAPTER  XII 

CASTLES  AND   BRICK-DUST 
§    I 

IT  was  on  the  day  when  those  two  pistol  shots  were  fired  at 
an  Austrian  Archduke  in  the  streets  of  Serajevo  that  the 
Masters'  match  was  played  out  at  Kensingtowe.  By  the  early 
evening  the  reverberation  of  the  revolver  reports  had  been  felt 
like  an  earthquake-shock  in  all  the  capitals  of  Europe;  and  in 
a  failing  light  the  last  wicket  had  fallen  at  Kensingtowe.  So  it 
happened  that,  while  the  Emperors  of  Central  Europe  were 
whispering  that  the  Day  had  come  and  the  slaughter  of  the 
youth  of  Christendom  might  begin,  there  was  a  gathering  in 
Radley's  room  of  those  insignificant  people  whose  little  doings 
you  have  watched  at  Kensingtowe.  They  were  assembled  to 
drink  tea  and  discuss  the  match.  There  were  Radley  as  host ; 
Pennybet,  to  represent  the  Old  Boys ;  Doe  and  I,  in  fine  fettle 
for  the  School;  and  Dr.  Chappy,  who,  having  sworn  that  he 
was  a  busy  man  and  couldn't  spare  the  time,  sat  spilling  cigar- 
ash  in  the  best  armchair,  and  looked  like  remaining  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening. 

*'Stop  quarrelling  about  the  match,"  said  Radley,  as  he  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  mantelpiece,  "and  listen  to  me.  It's  a  great 
day,  this — a  day  of  triumph.  Ray  has  won  the  innings  victory 
for  the  School,  and  Doe " 

Doe  pricked  up  his  ears. 

**It's  just  out — Doe  has  won  the  Horace  Prize." 

At  this  news  there  were  great  congratulations  of  the  poet, 
who  went  red  with  pleasure. 

"When  you've  all  finished,"  said  Radley,  "I'll  read  the  Prize 
Poem." 

So  Radley  began  faithfully  from  a  manuscript : 

168 


PART   II 


Castles  and  Brick-Diist  169 


"Horace,  Odes  I,  9.    Vides  ut  Alta  Stet. 
"White  is  the  mountain,  fleeced  in  snows, 
And  the  pale  trees  depress  their  weighted  boughs—" 

"Oh,  spare  us !"  interrupted  Chappy. 
"Not  a  bit/'  said  Radley.    "Hark  to  this : 

"Bring  out  the  mellow  wine,  the  best, 
The  sweet  convivial  wine,  and  test 

Its  four-year-old  maturity: 
To  Jove  commit  the  rest. 
Nor  question  his  divine  intents 
For,  when  he  stays  the  battling  elements, 

The  wind  shall  brood  o'er  prostrate  seas 
And  fail  to  move  the  ash's  crest 

Or  stir  the  stilly  cypress  trees. 
Be  no  forecaster  of  the  dawn; 

Deem  it  an  asset,  and  be  gay — 
Come,  merge  to-morrow's  misty  morn 

In  the  resplendence  of  to-day. 

"Youth  is  the  day  the  field  to  scour. 

The  time  of  conquests  won, 
The  pause,  wherein  to  hark  at  trysting  hour 
To  the  whispered  word 
That  is  gently  heard 
In  the  wake  of  the  passing  sun " 

"What's  it  all  about?"  grumbled  Chappy.  "And  Fm  sure 
*morn'  doesn't  rhyme  with  'dawn,'  "  at  which  Doe  went  white 
with  pain,  and  numbered  the  doctor  among  the  Philistines. 

"It's  a  very  distinguished  attempt  to  catch  the  spirit  of 
Horace's  fine  ode,"  answered  Radley,  and  Doe  turned  red 
again  with  pleasure,  forgiving  Radley  all  the  unkindness  he  had 
ever  perpetrated,  and  enrolling  him  among  the  Elect. 

Now  Pennybet  liked  to  be  the  centre  of  attraction  at  friendly 
little  gatherings  like  this,  and  had  little  inclination  to  sit  and 
listen  to  people  praising  those  who  recently  had  been  nothing 
but  his  satellites.     So  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  said : 

"It's  entirely  the  resiflt  of  my  training  that  these  yoimg 
people  have  turned  out  so  well." 

"Pennybet,"  explained  Radley,  "you're  a  purblind  egotist 
and  will  come  to  a  bad  end." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,  sir,"  said  Penny,  crossing  his  legs  that 


170  Tell  England  book  i 

he  might  the  more  comfortably  discuss  his  end  with  Radley. 
"I've  always  managed  to  do  w^hat  I've  wanted  and  to  come  out 
of  it  all  right." 

*'Oh,  you  have,  have  you?"  sneered  Chappy. 

"Always,"  answered  Penny,  unabashed.  "Ifs  a  favourite 
saying  of  my  mother's  that  'adverse  conditions  will  never  con- 
quer her  wilful  son.' " 

"Good  God !"  cried  the  doctor,  rightly  appalled. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  speaker,  delighted  to  tease  the  doctor, 
"for  instance,  I  made  up  my  mind  all  the  time  I  was  here  to 
stick  in  a  low  form.  It  was  an  easier  life,  and  fun  to  boss  kids 
like  Edgar  Doe  and  Rupert  Ray.  And  I  pulled  all  the  strings 
of  the  famous  Bramhall  Riot,  as  Ray  knows.  And  I  just  did 
sufficient  work  to  pass  into  Sandhurst.  And  I  shall  be  just 
satisfactory  enough  to  get  my  commission.  Then  I  shall  do  all 
in  my  power  to  provoke  a  European  War,  so  that  there  will  be 
a  good  chance  of  promotion " 

"There's  a  type  of  man,"  interrupted  Radley,  "who'd  start  a 
prairie  fire,  if  it  were  the  only  way  to  Igiht  his  pipe." 

"Exactly.     And  I  am  he." 

"Good  God  1"  repeated  Chappy. 

"And,  after  peace  is  declared,  I  shall  settle  down  to  a  com- 
fortable life  at  the  club." 

"It's  a  relief,"  smiled  Radley,  "that  you  won't  lead  a  revo- 
lution and  usurp  the  throne." 

"Too  much  trouble.  I  may  go  into  Parliament,  which  is  a 
comfortable  job.  On  the  Tory  side,  of  course,  because  there 
you  don't  have  to  think." 

"You've  about  fifty  years  of  life,"  suggested  Radley.  "And 
don't  you  want  to  do  anything  constructive  in  that  time  ?" 

"Not  in  these  trousers !  I  know  that,  if  I  were  sincere  and 
constructive  in  my  politics,  I  should  be  a  Socialist.  It  stands 
to  reason  that  it  can't  be  right  for  all  the  wealth  to  be  in  the 
pockets  of  the  few,  and  for  there  to  be  a  distinct  and  cocky 
governing  class.  But,  as  I  want  to  amass  wealth  and  enjoy  the 
position  of  the  ruling  class,  I  shall  be  careful  not  to  think  out 
my  politics,  lest  I  develop  a  pernicious  Socialism." 

"Oh,  Lord !"  groaned  the  doctor. 

"I  think  /'m  a  Socialist,"  suddenly  put  in  Doe,  and  Chappy 
turned  to  him,  dumbfounded  to  witness  the  eruption  of  a  second 


PART    II 


Castles  and  Brick-Dust  171 


youth.  'Tve  long  thought  that,  when  I  find  my  feet  in  politics, 
I  shall  be  in  the  Socialist  camp.  They  may  be  visionary,  but 
they  are  idealists.  And  I  think  it's  up  to  us  public-schoolboys 
to  lead  the  great  mass  of  uneducated  people,  who  can't  articu- 
late their  needs.     Fd  love  to  be  their  leader." 

"What  you're  going  to  be,"  said  Radley,  "is  an  intellectual 
rebel.  When  you  go  up  to  Oxford  in  a  year  or  so,  you'll  pose 
as  most  painfully  intellectual.  You'll  be  a  Socialist  in  Politics, 
a  Futurist  in  Art,  and  a  Modernist  or  Ultramontane  in  Religion 
— anything  that's  a  rebellion  against  the  established  order.  At 
all  costs  let  us  be  original  and  outrageous." 

"Hear,  hear,"  whispered  Penny. 

"Ray  has  been  the  strong,  silent  man  so  far,"  said  Radley. 
"Let's  hear  his  Castle  in  the  Air." 

"For  God's  sake "  began  Chappy. 

"Speech!    Speech!"  demanded  Pennybet. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  demurred  I.  "I've  not  many  ideas.  I 
generally  think  I'd  like  to  be  a  country  squire,  very  popular 
among  the  tenants,  who'd  have  my  photo  on  their  dressers. 
And  Td  send  them  all  hares  and  pheasants  at  Christmas  and  be 
interested  in  their  drains " 

I  was  elaborating  this  picture,  when  Penny,  feeling  that  he 
had  made  his  speech  and  was  not  particularly  interested  in  any- 
one else's,  glanced  at  a  gold  wrist-watch,  and  decided  that  it 
was  time  for  him  to  go.  He  made  a  peculiarly  effective  exit, 
his  hat  tilted  at  what  he  called  a  "damn-your-eyes"  angle. 
Never  again  did  Doe  or  I  see  him,  though  we  heard  of  his 
doings.  God  speed  to  him,  our  cocksure  Pennybet.  Let  us 
always  think  the  best  of  him. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  clicked  than  Chappy  exploded. 

"That  high  youth  ought  to  have  his  trousers  taken  down  and 
be  birched.  What  are  we  coming  to,  when  boys  like  him 
lecture  their  elders  on  how  to  run  the  world  ?" 

"That  question,"  Radley  retorted,  "Adam  probably  asked 
Eve,  when  Cain  and  Abel  decided  to  be  Socialists." 

"I  tell  you,  these  self-opinionated  boys  want  whipping,  and 
so  do  you.  Master  Doe,  with  your  damned  Fabianism." 

"Oh,  come,  come,"  objected  Radley.  "I  like  them  to  be 
gloriously  self-confident.    Young  blood  is  heady  stuflF.    And 


172  Tell  England  book  i 

there'd  be  something  wrong,  if  a  body  full  of  young  blood 
didn't  have  a  head  full  of  glittering  illusions." 

"Rot !"  proclaimed  Chappy. 

"I  like  them  to  be  Socialists  and  Futurists  and  everything.  If 
they  don't  want  to  put  the  world  to  rights,  who  will?'' 

"Damned  rot !" 

"It's  nothing  of  the  sort,"  rejoined  Radley,  getting  annoyed. 
"They  ought  to  break  out  at  this  time.  You  can't  bind  up  a  bud 
to  prevent  it  bursting  into  flower." 

"If  I'd  children  who  burst  like  that,  I'd  bind  them  for  you !" 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  contradicted  Radley,  softening  again. 
"You'd  expect  them  to  be  intolerant  of  you  as  old  fashioned. 
You'd  withdraw  behind  your  cigar-smoke  and  your  old-fash- 
ioned ideas,  and  leave  them  to  put  the  world  to  rights.  After 
all,  it's  their  world." 


§2 

Now,  though  you  may  think  this  a  very  uninteresting  chapter 
— a  mere  dialogue  over  the  tea-cups,  I  take  leave  to  present  it 
to  you  as  quite  the  most  dramatic  and  most  central  of  our 
humble  tale.  The  events  that  lend  it  this  distinguished  charac- 
ter were  happening  hundreds  of  miles  from  Radley 's  room,  in 
places  where  more  powerful  people  than  Penny  or  Doe  or  I 
were  building  Castles  in  the  Air.  An  Emperor  was  dreaming 
of  a  towering,  feudal  Castle,  broad-based  upon  a  conquered 
Europe  and  a  servile  East.  Nay,  more,  he  had  finished  with 
dreaming.  All  the  materials  of  this  master-mason  were  ready 
to  the  last  stone.  And,  if  the  two  pistol-shots  meant  anything, 
they  meant  that  the  Emperor  had  begun  to  build. 

And,  since  building  was  the  order  of  the  day,  there  were  wise 
men  in  the  councils  of  the  Free  Nations  who  saw  that  they 
must  destroy  the  Emperor's  handiwork  and  build  instead  a 
Castle  of  their  own,  where  Liberty,  International  Honour,  and 
many  other  lovely  things  might  find  a  home.  So  for  all  of  us 
self-opinionated  boys,  it  was  a  matter  of  hours  this  stunmer 
evening  before  we  should  be  told  to  tumble  our  petty  Castles 
down,  and  shape  from  their  ruins  a  brick  or  two  for  the  Castle 
of  the  Free  Peoples.    Well,  we  tumbled  them  down.    And  the 


PART  II  Castles  and  Brick^Dust  173 

rest  of  this  story,  I  think,  is  the  story  of  the  bricks  that  were 
made  from  their  dust. 


§3 

Doe  and  I  left  Radley  and  the  doctor  to  their  dispute,  and 
retired  to  our  study.  It  was  then  that  Doe  began  to  blush  and 
say: 

"Funny  the  subject  of  our  ambitions  cropped  up.  Only  a 
few  days  ago  I  tried  to  write  a  poem  about  it.'' 

I  pleaded  for  permission  to  read  it. 

"You  can,  if  you  like,''  he  said,  getting  very  crimson.  With 
trembling  hands  he  extracted  a  notebook  from  his  pocket  and 
indicated  the  poem  to  me.  From  that  moment  I  saw  that  he 
was  waiting  in  an  agony  of  suspense  for  my  approval. 

I  took  it  to  the  window,  and,  by  the  half-light  of  evening, 
read: 

If  God  were  pleased  to  satisfy 

My  every  whim, 
I'd  tell  you  just  the  little  things 

I'd  ask  of  Him: 
A  little  love — a  little  love,  and  that  comes  first  of  all, 
And  then  a  chance,  and  more  than  one,  to  raise  up  them  that  fall ; 

Enough,  not  overmuch,  to  spend; 
And  discourse  that  would  charm  me 

With  one  familiar  friend; 
A  little  music,  and,  perhaps,  a  song  or  two  to  sing; 

And  I  would  ask  of  God  above  to  grant  one  other  thing: 
Before  old  Death  can  grimly  smile 

And  take  me  unawares, 
A  little  time  to  rest  awhile. 

To  think,  and  say  my  prayers. 

"Gad!"  I  said.    **You're  a  poet." 

I  liked  the  little  trifle,  not  least  because  I  suspected  that  the 
"one  familiar  friend"  was  myself.  Everyone  likes  to  be  men- 
tioned in  a  poem. 

Doe  beamed  with  pleasure  that  I  had  not  spoken  harshly  of 
his  off-spring. 

"Glad  you  like  it,"  he  said. 


174  Tell  England  book  i 

'There's  this,"  I  suggested,  *'you  talk  about  only  wanting 
'these  little  things'  out  of  life.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
want  quite  a  lot." 

"A  lot !  By  Jove,  Ray,"  cried  Doe  excitedly,  "it's  only  when 
I'm  in  my  unworldly  moods  that  I  want  so  little  as  that.  In  my 
worse  moments — that's  nine-tenths  of  the  day — I  want  yards 
more :  Fame  and  Flattery  and  Power." 

"Funny.  Once,  outside  the  baths,  I  had  a  sort  of  longing 
to " 

"Ray,  I  only  tell  you  these  things,"  interrupted  Doe,  now 
worked  up,  "but  often  I  feel  I've  something  in  me  that  must 
come  out — something  strong — something  forceful." 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  felt  quite  like  that,"  said  I,  ruminating. 
"But  I  did  once  feel  outside  the  baths " 

"The  trouble  is,"  Doe  carried  on,  "that  this  something  in  me 
isn't  pure.  It's  mixed  up  with  the  desire  for  glory.  When  I 
told  Radley  I'd  like  to  be  a  leader  of  the  people,  I  knew  that 
one-third  was  a  real  desire  for  their  good,  and  two-thirds  a 
desire  for  my  own  glory." 

"Yes,  but  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  once " 

"And  I  wish  it  were  a  pure  force.  I'd  love  to  pursue  an  Ideal 
for  its  own  sake,  and  without  any  thought  for  my  own  glory. 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  do  a  really  perfect  thing." 

"I  was  going  to  tell  you,"  I  persisted ;  and,  though  I  knew 
he  measured  my  temperament  as  far  inferior  to  Edgar  Doe's 
artistic  soul,  and  would  rather  have  continued  his  own  revela- 
tions, yet  must  I  interrupt  by  telling  him  of  my  one  moment  of 
aspiration  and  yearning.  Perhaps,  I,  too,  wanted  to  pour  out 
my  mind's  little  adventures.  We're  all  the  same,  and  like  a 
heart-to-heart  talk,  so  long  as  it  is  about  ourselves. 

I  told  him,  accordingly,  of  that  strange  evening  outside  the 
baths,  when  I  had  felt  so  overpowering  an  aspiration  towards  a 
vague  ideal — an  ideal  that  could  not  be  grasped  or  seen,  but  was 
somehow  both  great  and  good. 


§4 

The  last  evening  of  that  summer  term  there  was  a  noisy 
breaking-up  banquet  at  Bramhall  House.    And  in  the  morning  I 


PART  II  Castles  and  Brick-Dust  175 

went  to  Radley's  room  to  say  a  separate  good-bye.  I  was 
exultant.  Next  term  seemed  worlds  away:  and,  meanwhile, 
eight  sunny  weeks  of  holiday  stretched  before  me.  My  mother 
and  I  were  off  for  Switzerland,  to  whose  white  heights  and 
blue  Genevan  lake  she  loved  to  take  me,  for  it  was  my  birth- 
place, and,  in  her  fond  way,  she  would  call  me  her  "mountain 
boy,"  and  tell  an  old  story  of  a  Colonel  who  had  gazed  into  his 
grandson's  eyes,  and  said :  '7/  a  dans  les  yeux  un  coin  du  lac/' 
I  was  dreaming,  then,  of  the  Swiss  mountain  air,  and  of  twin 
white  sails  on  a  lovely  lake ;  and  I  was  visualising,  let  me  admit 
it,  a  new  well-tailored  suit,  grey  spats,  socks  of  a  mauve  variety, 
and  other  holiday  eruptions.  So  there  was  no  space  in  my 
parochial  mind  for  international  issues  and  rumours  of  wars. 
Rather  I  was  ridiculously  flushed  and  shining,  as  I  came  upon 
Radley  and  wished  him  a  happy  holiday. 

Radley  seemed  strained,  as  though  he  had  something  ominous 
to  break,  and  said  with  a  dull  and  meaning  laugh :  "Fm  sure  I 
hope  you  have  one  too." 

Observing  that  he  was  in  one  of  his  harder  moods,  I  at  once 
became  awkwardly  dumb ;  and  there  was  a  difficult  silence,  till 
he  asked : 

"Have  you  heard  about  Herr  Reinhardt  ?" 

''Mr.  C^sar?     No,  sir." 

'Well,  he  left  to-day  for  Germany." 

"What  on  earth  for?" 

"Why,  to  shoulder  a  rifle,  of  course,  and  fight  in  the  German 
ranks.  Don't  you  know  Germany  is  mobilising  and  will  be  at 
war  with  France  in  about  thirty  hours  ?" 

"Oh,  I  read  something  about  it.     But  what  fun  !'* 

Radley  looked  irritated.  In  trying  to  break  some  strange 
news  he  had  walked  up  a  blind  alley  and  been  met  by  my  blank 
wall  of  density.    So  he  took  another  path. 

"Pennybet  is  in  luck,  according  to  his  ideas.  All  Europe 
plays  into  his  hands.  He's  got  the  war  he  wanted  to  give  him 
rapid  promotion." 

"Why,  sir,  how  will  Germany  affect  him  ?" 

"Only  in  this  way,"  Radley  announced,  desperately  trying  to 
get  through  my  blank  wall  by  exploding  a  surprise,  "that  Eng- 
land will  be  at  war  with  Germany  in  about  three  days." 

"Oh,  what  fun !    We'll  give  'em  no  end  of  a  thrashing.     I 


176  Tell  England  book  i 

hate  Germans.  Excepting  Herr  Reinhardt.  I  hope  he  has  a 
decent  time." 

"And  White  and  Lancaster,  and  all  who  leave  this  term,  and 
perhaps  even — perhaps  others  will  get  commissions  at  once." 

"Why,  sir?    They're  not  going  to  Sandhurst." 

"No,"  sighed  Radley,  "but  they  give  commissions  to  all  old 
public-schoolboys,  if  there's  a  big  war.  White  and  Lancaster 
will  be  in  the  fight  before  many  months." 

"Lucky  beggars !" 

It  was  this  fatuous  remark  which  showed  Radley  that  I  had 
no  idea  of  my  own  relation  to  the  coming  conflict.  So  he  for- 
bore to  spring  upon  me  the  greatest  surprise  of  all.  He  just 
said  with  a  sadness  and  a  strange  emphasis : 

"Well,  good-bye,  and  the  best  of  luck.  Make  the  most  of 
your  holiday.    There  are  great  times  in  front  of  you." 

All  the  while  he  said  it,  he  held  my  hand  in  a  demonstrative 
way,  very  unlike  the  normal  Radley.  Then  he  dropped  it 
abruptly  and  turned  away.  And  I  went  exuberantly  out — so 
exuberantly  that  I  left  my  hat  upon  his  table,  and  was  obliged 
to  hasten  back  for  it.  When  I  entered  the  room  again,  he  was 
staring  out  of  the  window  over  the  empty  cricket  fields. 
Though  he  heard  me  come,  he  never  once  turned  round,  as  I 
picked  up  my  hat  and  went  out  through  the  door. 

And  because  of  that  I  dared  to  wonder  whether  his  grey  eyes, 
where  the  gentleness  lay,  were  not  inquiring  of  the  deserted 
fields:  "Have  I  allowed  myself  to  grow  too  fond?"  He 
seemed  as  if  braced  for  suffering. 

Farewell,  Radley,  farewell.  After  all,  does  it  matter  to  a 
strong  swimmer  if  the  wave  beats  against  him? 


Now  Thames  is  long  and  winds  its  changing  way 
Through  wooded  reach  to  dusky  ports  and  gray, 
Till,  wearily,  it  strikes  the  Flats  of  Leigh, 
Ah  old  life,  tidal  with  Eternity, 

But  Fal  is  short,  full,  deep,  and  very  wide, 

Nor  old,  nor  sleepy,  when  it  meets  the  tide; 

Through  hills  and  groves  where  birds  and  branches  sing 

It  runs  its  course  of  sunny  wandering. 

And  passes,  careless  that  it  soon  shall  be 

Lost  in  the  old,  gray  mists  that  hide  the  sea. 

Ah,  they  were  good,  those  up-stream  reaches  when 
Ourselves  were  young  and  dreamed  of  being  men, 
But  Fal!  the  tide  had  touched  us  even  then! 
One  tribal  God,  we  bow  to,  thou  and  we, 
And  praise  Him,  Who  ordained  our  Ifues  should  be 
So  early  tided  with  Eternity. 


BOOK  II 
AND  THE  REST— WAR 


Part  I:    "Rangoon"  Nights 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  ETERNAL  WATERWAY 
§1 

THE  most  clearly  marked  moment  of  my  life  was  when  I 
passed  the  fat  policeman  who  was  standing  just  inside  the 
great  gateway  of  Devonport  Dockyard.  I  was  to  embark  that 
morning  on  a  troopship  bound  for  the  Dardanelles.  As  I 
stepped  out  of  the  public  thoroughfare,  and  walking  through 
the  gate,  saw  the  fat  policeman,  I  passed  out  of  one  period  of 
my  life  and  entered  upon  another. 

The  first  period  that  remained  outside  the  tall  walls  of  the 
dockyard  was  made  up  of  chapters  of  boyhood  and  school- 
days; and  a  gallant  last  chapter  of  playing  at  soldiers.  Ah! 
this  last  chapter — it  had  tennis  and  theatres  and  girls  and 
kisses :  a  great  patch  of  life !    And  I  left  it  all  outside  the  docks. 

The  second  period,  on  to  which  I  now  abruptly  set  foot, 
was  to  be  intense,  highly-coloured,  and  scented;  a  rush  of 
rapidly  moving  pictures  of  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the  bleak  hills  of  Mudros,  and  the  exploding  shells  on 
the  peninsula  of  Gallipoli. 

The  fat  policeman  had  a  revolver  slung  over  his  shoulder, 
and  his  businesslike  weapon  expressed  better  than  anything 
else  that  England  was  at  war  and  taking  no  risks.  He  suit- 
ably challenged  me: 

*'Your  authority  to  go  through,  sir?"  demanded  he. 

"That's  where  IVe  got  you  by  the  winter  garments,"  said 
I  vulgarly;  and,  diving  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  I  drew  out 
my  Embarkation  Orders.  They  were  heavily  marked  in  red 
"SECRET,"  but  I  judged  the  policeman  to  be  "in  the  know," 

i8i 


182  Tell  England  book  ii 

and  showed  them  to  him.  Properly  impressed  with  the  historic 
document,  he  turned  to  a  fair-haired  young  officer  who  was 
with  me,  and  asked : 

"You  the  same,  sir?" 

"Surely,"  answered  my  companion,  which  was  a  new  way 
he  had  acquired  of  saying  "y^s." 

"Right  y'are,  sir,"  said  the  policeman,  and  we  crossed  the 
line. 

My  fair-haired  companion  was,  of  course,  Second  Lieu- 
tenant Edgar  Gray  Doe ;  and  it  was  in  keeping  with  the  destiny 
that  entwined  our  lives  that  we  should  pass  the  fat  police- 
man together.  And  now  I  had  better  tell  you  how  it  hap- 
pened. 

§2 

On  August  3,  1914,  eleven  months  before  my  solemn  ad- 
mission into  Devonport  Dockyard,  I  was  a  young  schoolboy 
on  my  holidays,  playing  tennis  in  a  set  of  mixed  doubles.  About 
five  o'clock  a  paper-boy  entered  the  tennis-club  grounds  with 
the  Evening  News,  My  male  opponent,  although  he  was  serv- 
ing, stopped  his  game  for  a  minute  and  bought  a  paper. 

"Hang  the  paper!"  called  I,  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  the 
Old  World  was  falling  about  our  ears  and  England's  last  day 
of  peace  was  going  down  with  the  afternoon  sun.  "Your 
service.    Love — fifteen." 

"By  Jove,"  he  cried,  after  scanning  the  paper,  "we're  in !" 

"What  do  you  mean,"  cried  the  girls,  "have  the  Germans 
declared  war  on  us  ?" 

"No.  But  we've  sent  an  ultimatum  to  Germany  which 
expires  at  twelve  to-night.  That  means  Britain  will  be  in 
a  state  of  war  with  Germany  as  from  midnight."  The  hand 
that  held  the  paper  trembled  with  excitement. 

"How  frightfully  thrilling!"  said  one  girl. 

"How  awful !"  whispered  the  other. 

"How  ripping!"  corrected  I.  "Crash  on  with  the  game. 
Your  service.     Love — fifteen." 

Five  days  later  it  was  decided  that  I  should  not  return  to 
school,  but  should  go  at  once  into  the  army.  So  it  was  that 
I  never  finished  up  in  the  correct  style  at  Kensingtowe  with 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  183 

an  emotional  last  chapel,  endless  good  wishes  and  a  lump  in  my 
throat.    I  just  didn't  go  back. 

Instead,  an  influential  friend,  who  knew  the  old  Colonel  of 
the  2nd  Tenth  East  Cheshires,  a  territorial  battalion  of  my 
grandfather's  regiment,  secured  for  me  and,  at  my  request, 
for  Doe  commissions  in  that  unit.  His  Majesty  the  King 
(whom,  and  whose  dominions,  might  God  preserve  in  this 
grand  moment  of  peril)  had,  it  seemed,  great  faith  in  the 
loyalty  and  gallantry  of  "Our  trusty  and  well-beloved  Rupert 
Ray,''  as  also  of  **Our  trusty  and  well-beloved  Edgar  Gray 
Doe,"  and  was  pleased  to  accept  our  swords  in  the  defence  of 
his  realm. 

So  one  day  we  two  trusty  and  well-beloved  subjects,  flushed, 
very  nervous,  and  clad  in  the  most  expensive  khaki  uniforms 
that  London  could  provide,  took  train  for  the  North  to  inter- 
view the  Colonel  of  the  2nd  Tenth.  He  was  sitting  at  a  littered 
writing-table,  when  we  were  shown  in  by  a  smart  orderly. 
We  saw  a  plump  old  territorial  Colonel,  grey-haired,  grey- 
moustached,  and  kindly  in  face.  His  khaki  jacket  was  bright- 
ened by  the  two  South  African  medal  ribbons ;  and  we  were  so 
sadly  fresh  to  things  military  as  to  wonder  whether  either  was 
the  V.C.  We  saluted  with  great  smartness,  and  hoped  we 
had  made  the  movement  correctly :  for  really,  we  knew  very 
little  about  it.  I  wasn't  sure  whether  we  ought  to  salute  in- 
doors ;  and  Doe,  having  politely  bared  his  fair  head  on  entering 
the  office,  saluted  without  a  cap.  I  blushed  at  my  bad  manners 
and  surreptitiously  removed  mine.  Not  knowing  what  to  do 
with  my  hands,  I  put  them  in  my  pockets.  I  knew  that,  if 
something  didn't  happen  quickly,  I  should  start  giggling.  Here 
in  the  presence  of  our  new  commanding  officer  I  felt  as  I  used 
to  when  I  stood  before  the  head  master. 

"Sit  down,"  beamed  the  CO. 

We  sat  down,  crossed  our  legs,  and  tried  to  appear  at  our 
ease,  and  languid;  as  became  officers. 

"How  old  are  you?"  the  Colonel  asked  Doe. 

Doe  hesitated,  wondering  whether  to  perjure  himself  and 
say  "Twenty." 

"Eighteen,  sir,"  he  admitted,  obviously  ashamed. 

"And  you,  Ray?" 

"Eighteen,  sir,"  said  I,  feeling  Doe's  companion  in  guilt. 


184  Tell  England  book  n 

"Splendid,  perfectly  splendid !"  replied  the  Colonel.  "Eight- 
een, by  Jove !  You've  timed  your  lives  wonderfully,  my  boys. 
To  be  eighteen  in  19 14  is  to  be  the  best  thing  in  England. 
England's  wealth  used  to  consist  in  other  things.  Nowadays 
you  boys  are  the  richest  thing  she's  got.  She's  solvent  with 
you,  and  bankrupt  without  you.  Eighteen,  confound  it!  It's 
a  virtue  to  be  your  age,  just  as  it's  a  crime  to  be  mine.  Now, 
look  here" — the  Colonel  drew  up  his  chair,  as  if  he  were 
going  to  get  to  business — "look  here.  Eighteen  years  ago 
you  were  born  for  this  day.  Through  the  last  eighteen  years 
you've  been  educated  for  it.  Your  birth  and  breeding  were 
given  you  that  you  might  officer  England's  youth  in  this  hour. 
And  now  you  enter  upon  your  inheritance.  Just  as  this  is 
the  day  in  the  history  of  the  world  so  yours  is  the  generation. 
No  other  generation  has  been  called  to  such  grand  things,  and 
to  such  crowded,  glorious  living.  Any  other  generation  at 
your  age  would  be  footling  around,  living  a  shallow  existence 
in  the  valleys,  or  just  beginning  to  climb  a  slope  to  higher 
things.  But  you"— 4iere  the  Colonel  tapped  the  writing-table 
with  his  forefinger — "you,  just  because  you've  timed  your  lives 
aright,  are  going  to  be  transferred  straight  toithe  mountain-tops. 
Well,  I'm  damned.    Eighteen!" 

I  remember  how  his  enthusiasm  radiated  from  him  and 
kindled  a  responsive  excitement  in  me.  I  had  entered  his 
room  a  silly  boy  with  no  nobler  thought  than  a  thrill  in  the 
new  adventure  on  which  I  had  so  suddenly  embarked.  But, 
as  this  fatherly  old  poet,  touched  by  England's  need  and  by 
the  sight  of  two  boys  entering  his  room,  so  fresh  and  strong 
and  ready  for  anything,  broke  into  eloquence,  I  saw  dimly 
the  great  ideas  he  was  striving  to  express.  I  felt  the  brilliance 
of  being  alive  in  this  big  moment;  the  pride  of  youth  and 
strength.  I  felt  Aspiration  surging  in  me  and  speeding  up 
the  action  of  my  heart.  I  think  I  half  hoped  it  would  be 
my  high  lot  to  die  on  the  battlefield.  It  was  just  the  same 
glowing  sensation  that  pervaded  me  one  strange  evening  when, 
standing  outside  the  baths  at  Kensingtowe,  I  first  awoke  to 
the  joy  of  conscious  life. 

"D'you  see  what  I'm  driving  at?"  asked  the  old  Colonel. 

"Rather !"  answered  Doe,  with  eagerness.  Turning  towards 
him  as  he  spoke,  I  saw  by  the  shining  in  his  brown  eyes  that 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  185 

the  poet  in  him  had  answered  to  the  call  of  the  old  officer's 
words.  His  aspiration  as  well  as  mine  was  inflamed.  Doe  was 
feeling  great.  He  was  picturing  himself,  no  doubt,  leading  a 
forlorn  hope  into  triumph,  or  fighting  a  rearguard  action  and 
saving  the  British  line.  The  heroic  creature  was  going  to  be 
equal  to  the  great  moment  and  save  England  dramatically. 

Pleased  with  Doe's  ready  understanding — my  friend  always 
captivated  people  in  the  first  few  minutes — our  CO.  warmed 
still  more  to  his  subject.  Having  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
ancf  leant  back  in  his  chair  to  survey  us  the  better,  he  con- 
tinued : 

*'What  I  mean  is — had  you  been  eighteen  a  generation  earlier, 
the  British  Empire  could  have  treated  you  as  very  insignificant 
fry,  whereas  to-day  she  is  obliged  to  come  to  you  boys  and 
say  'You  take  top  place  in  my  aristocracy.  You're  on  top 
because  I  must  place  the  whole  weight  of  everything  I  have 
upon  your  shoulders.  You're  on  top  because  you  are  the 
Capitalists,  possessing  an  enormous  capital  of  youth  and 
strength  and  boldness  and  endurance.  You  must  give  it  all 
to  me — to  gamble  with — for  my  life.  I've  nothing  to  give 
you  in  return,  except  suffering  and '  " 

The  Colonel  paused,  feeling  he  had  said  enough — or  too 
much.  We  made  no  murmur  of  agreement.  It  would  have 
seemed  like  applauding  in  church.    Then  he  proceeded : 

"Well,  you're  coming  to  my  battaHon,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  rather,  sir,"  said  Doe. 

"Right.  You're  just  the  sort  of  boys  that  I  want.  If  you're 
young  and  bold,  your  men  will  follow  you  anywhere.  In  this 
fight  it's  going  to  be  better  to  be  a  young  officer,  followed 
and  loved  because  of  his  youth,  than  to  be  an  old  one,  followed 
and  trusted  because  of  his  knowledge.  Dammit!  I  wish  I 
could  make  you  see  it.  But,  for  Gkjd's  sake,  be  enthusiastic. 
Be  enthusiastic  over  the  great  crisis,  over  the  responsibility, 
over  your  amazingly  high  calling." 

He  stopped,  and  began  playing  with  a  pencil ;  and  it  was  some 
while  before  he  added,  speaking  uncomfortably  and  keeping 
his  eyes  upon  the  pencil : 

"Take  a  pride  in  your  bodies,  and  hold  them  in  condition. 
You'll  want  'em.  There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  getting 
them  tainted  in  the  life  of  temptations  you're  going  to  face.    I 


186  Tell  England  book  h 

expect  you — you  grasp  my  meaning.  .  .  .  But,  if  only  you'll 
light  up  your  enthusiasm,  everything  else  will  be  all  right." 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  us  again,  saying : 

"Well,  good-bye  for  the  present.'' 

We  shook  hands,  saluted,  and  went  out.  And,  as  I  shut 
the  door,  I  heard  the  old  enthusiast  call  out  to  someone  who 
must  have  been  in  an  inner  room:  "I've  two  gems  of  boys 
there — straight  from  school.  Bless  my  soul,  England'll  win 
through." 

§3 

But,  lack-a-day,  here's  the  trouble  with  me.  My  moments 
of  exaltation  have  always  been  fleeting.  Just  as  in  the  old 
school-days  I  would  leave  Radley's  room,  brimful  of  lofty 
resolutions,  and  fall  away  almost  immediately  into  littleness 
again,  so  now  I  soon  allowed  the  lamp  of  enthusiasm,  lit  by 
the  Colonel,  to  grow  very  dim. 

It  was  ridicule  of  the  fine  old  visionary  that  destroyed 
his  power.  "Hallo,  here  come  two  more  of  the  Colonel's  blue- 
eyed  boys,"  laughed  the  officers  of  our  new  battalion  the 
first  time  we  came  into  their  view.  And  "The  old  man's 
mounted  his  hobby  again,"  said  they,  after  any  lecture  in  which 
he  alluded  to  Youth  and  Enthusiasm. 

Yet  the  Colonel  was  right,  and  the  scoffers  wrong.  The 
Colonel  was  a  poet  who  could  listen  and  hear  how  the  heart 
of  the  world  was  beating;  the  scoffers  were  prosaic  cattle 
who  scarcely  knew  that  the  world  had  a  heart  at  all.  He 
turned  us,  if  only  for  a  moment,  into  young  knights  of  high 
ideals,  while  they  made  us  sorry,  conceited  young  knaves. 

You  shall  know  what  knaves  we  were. 

So  far  from  being  enthusiastic  over  parades  and  field  days, 
we  found  them  most  detestably  dull  and  longed  for  the  pleas- 
ures that  followed  the  order  to  dismiss.  And  after  the  Dis- 
miss we  were  utterly  happy. 

It  was  happiness  to  walk  the  streets  in  our  new  uniforms, 
and  to  take  the  salutes  of  the  Tommies,  the  important  boy- 
scouts,  and  the  military-minded  gutter  urchins.  I  longed  to 
go  home  on  leave,  so  that  in  company  with  my  mother  I 
could  walk  through  the  world  saluted  at  every  twenty  paces, 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  187 

and  thus  she  should  see  me  in  all  my  glory.  And  when  one 
day  I  strolled  with  her  past  a  Hussar  sentry  who  brought  his 
sword  flashing  in  the  sun  to  the  salute,  I  felt  I  had  seldom 
experienced  anything  so  satisfying. 

I  was  secretly  elated,  too,  in  possessing  a  soldier  servant 
to  wait  on  me  hand  and  foot — almost  to  bath  me.  I  spoke 
with  a  concealed  relish  of  **my  agents,"  and  loved  to  draw 
cheques  on  Cox  and  Co.  I  looked  forward  to  Sunday  Church 
Parade,  for  there  I  could  wear  my  sword.  It  was  my  grand- 
father's sword,  and  Vm  afraid  I  thought  less  of  the  romance 
of  bearing  it  in  defence  of  the  Britain  that  he  loved  and  the 
France  where  he  lay  buried  than  of  its  flashy  appearance  and 
the  fine  finish  it  gave  to  my  uniform.  I  was  a  strange  mixture, 
for,  when  the  preacher,  looking  down  the  old  Gothic  arches, 
said :  "This  historic  church  has  often  before  filled  with  armed 
men,"  I  shivered  with  the  poetry  of  it;  and  yet,  no  sooner 
had  I  come  out  into  the  modern  sunlight  and  seen  the  con- 
gregation waiting  for  the  soldiers  to  be  marched  off,  than  I 
must  needs  be  occupied  again  with  the  peculiarly  dashing  fig- 
ure I  was  cutting. 

Once  Doe  and  I  went  on  a  visit  to  Kensingtowe,  partly  out 
of  loyalty  to  the  old  school,  and  partly  to  display  ourselves 
in  our  new  greatness.  We  wore  our  field-service  caps  at 
the  jaunty  angle  of  all  right-minded  subalterns.  Though  only 
unmounted  officers,  we  were  dressed  in  yellow  riding-breeches 
with  white  leather  strappings.  Fixed  to  our  heels  were  the 
spurs  that  we  had  long  possessed  in  secret.  They  jingled 
with  every  step,  and  the  only  thing  that  marred  the  music  of 
their  tinkle  was  the  anxiety  lest  some  officer  of  the  2nd  Tenth 
should  see  us  thus  arrayed.  Doe  was  in  field  boots,  but  his 
pleasure  in  being  seen  in  this  cavalry  kit  was  quite  spoiled  by 
his  fear  of  being  ridiculed  for  "swank."  Both  of  us  would 
have  liked  to  take  our  batmen  with  us  and  to  say:  "Don't 
trouble,  my  man  will  do  that  for  you." 

We  created  a  gratifying  sensation  at  Kensingtowe.  It  was 
exhilarating  to  have  a  friend  come  up  to  me  and  exclaim: 
"By  Jove,  Ray,  you're  no  end  of  a  dog  now,"  and  to  notice 
that  he  didn't  heed  my  self-depreciatory  answer  because  he 
was  busy  looking  into  every  detail  of  my  uniform.  "What 
devilish  fine  fellows  we  are,  eh  what  ?"  cried  our  admirers,  and 


188  Tell  England  book  h 

we  blushed  and  said  "Oh,  shut  up."  We  met  old  Dr.  Chappy, 
who  looked  us  up  and  down,  roared  with  laughter,  and  said 
"Well,  I'll  be  damned!*'  We  were  welcomed  into  Radley's 
room,  and  were  boys  enough  to  address  him  as  "sir''  as  though 
we  were  still  his  pupils.  He  examined  our  appearance  like 
a  big  brother  proud  of  two  young  ones,  and  said  after  a  silence : 

"So  this  is  what  it  has  all  come  to." 

I  took  a  lot  of  my  cronies  out  to  tea  in  the  town,  and,  as 
we  walked  to  the  shops,  stared  down  the  road  to  see  if  any 
Tommies  were  coming  who  would  salute  me  in  front  of  my 
guests.  Luck  was  kind  to  me.  For  a  large  party,  marching 
under  an  N.C.O.,  approached  us;  and  the  N.C.O.  in  a  voice 
like  the  crack  of  doom  cried  "Party — eyes  RIGHT !''  Heads 
and  eyes  swung  towards  me,  the  N.C.O.  saluted  briskly,  and, 
when  the  party  had  passed  us,  yelled  "Eyes  FRONT!"  It 
was  one  of  the  most  triumphant  moments  of  my  career. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  this  pride-tickling  honour  been  paid 
to  me  before  there  happened  as  distressing  a  thing  as — oh,  it 
was  dreadful!  I  passed  one  of  your  full-blooded  regular- 
army  sergeants,  and,  since  he  raised  his  hand  towards  his  face, 
I  apprehended  he  was  about  to  salute  me.  Promptly  I  ac- 
knowledged the  expected  salute,  only  to  discover  that  the  ser- 
geant had  raised  his  hand  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  blow  his 
nose  with  his  naked  fingers.  Believe  me,  even  now,  when  I 
think  of  this  blunder,  I  catch  my  breath  with  shame. 

What  young  bucks  we  were,  Doe  and  I !  We  bought  motor- 
bicycles  and  raced  over  the  country-side.  Doe,  ever  a  preacher 
of  Life,  calling  out  "This  is  Life,  isn't  it?"  I  remember  our 
bowling  along  a  deserted  country  road  and  shouting  for  a 
lark:  "Sing  of  joy,  sing  of  bhss,  it  was  never  like  this,  Yip-i- 
addy-i-ay !"  I  remember  our  scorching  recklessly  down  white 
English  highways,  with  a  laugh  for  every  bone-shaking  bump, 
and  a  heart-thrill  for  every  time  we  risked  our  lives  tearing 
through  a  narrow  passage  between  two  War  Department  motor 
lorries.  I  see  the  figure  of  Doe  standing  breathless  by  his  bi- 
cycle after  a  break-neck  run,  his  hair  blown  into  disorder  by 
the  wind,  and  the  white  dust  of  England  round  his  eyes  and 
on  his  cheeks,  and  saying :  "My  godfathers,  this  is  Life !"  Oh, 
yes,  it  was  a  rosy  patch  of  life  and  freedom. 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  189 


§4 

But,  in  our  abandonment,  we  tumbled  into  more  sinister 
things.  It  was  disillusionment  that  bowled  us  down.  The 
evil  that  we  saw  in  the  world  and  the  army  smashed  our 
allegiance  to  the  old  moral  codes.  We  suddenly  lost  the  old 
anchors  and  blew  adrift,  strange  new  theories  filling  our  sails. 
We  ceased  to  think  there  was  any  harm  in  being  occasionally 
"blotto"  at  night,  or  in  employing  the  picturesque  army  word 
''bloody."  Worse  than  that,  we  began  to  believe  that  vicious 
things,  which  in  our  boyhood  had  been  very  secret  sins,  were 
universally  committed  and  bragged  about. 

"If  s  so,  Rupert,"  said  Doe,  in  a  corner  of  the  Officers'  ante- 
room one  night  before  dinner,  'Tm  an  Epicurean.  Surely 
the  Body  doesn't  prompt  to  pleasure  only  to  be  throttled? 
There's  something  in  what  they  were  saying  at  Mess  yester- 
day that  these  things  are  normal  and  natural.  I  mean,  hu- 
man nature  is  human  nature,  and  you  can't  alter  it.  I  don't 
think  any  man  is,  or  can  be,  what  they  call  'pure.'  I  s'pose 
every  man  has  done  these  things,  don't  you  ?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  I  answered,  conscious  of  hot  cheeks.  'We 
may  do  them,  but  there  are  people  I  can't  imagine  it  of." 

"But,  again,  there's  the  question  whether  War  doesn't  mean 
the  suspension  of  all  ordinary  moral  laws.  The  law  that  you 
shan't  kill  is  in  abeyance.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation 
has  to  be  suppressed.  There's  some  justification  for  being  an 
Epicurean  for  the  duration  of  the  war." 

"Perhaps  so,"  acknowledged  I.    "I  don't  know." 

As  we  left  the  ante-room  and  sat  down  to  Mess,  Doe  an- 
nounced : 

"Ive  every  intention  of  getting  tight  to-night." 

"Pourquoi  pas?"  said  I.    ''Cest  la  guerre  T 

"Before  I  die,"  continued  Doe,  who  was  already  flushed 
with  gin  and  vermouth,  "I  want  to  have  lived.  I  want  to  have 
touched  all  the  joys  and  experiences  of  life.  Pass  the  Chablis. 
Here's  to  you,  Rupert.     Cheerioh!" 

"Cheerioh !"  toasted  I,  raising  my  glass.    "Happy  days !" 

"I'm  determined  to  be  able  to  say,  Rupert,  whatever  hap- 
pens :    'Never  mind,  I  had  a  good  time  while  it  lasted !'  " 


190  Tell  England  book  ii 

''Vm  with  you/'  said  I,  who  was  now  nearly  as  flushed  as 
he.     "Let's  be  in  everything  up  to  the  neck." 

"Surely,"  Doe  endorsed.    ''Cest  la  guerre T 

So  with  the  meat  and  sweets  went  the  wines  of  France; 
with  the  nuts  the  sparkling  "bubbly";  and  in  the  ante-room 
Martinis,  Benedictines,  and  Whisky-Macdonalds.  Soon  the 
night  became  noisy,  and  Doe,  encouraged  by  riotous  subalterns, 
jumped  on  a  table  and  declaimed  a  Httle  thickly  his  prize  Ho- 
ratian  Ode : 

"Bring  out  the  mellow  wine,  the  best, 
The  sweet,  convivial  wine,  and  test 

Its   four-year-old   maturity; 
To  Jove  commit  the  rest : 
Nor  question  his  divine  intents, 
For,  when  he  stays  the  battling  elements 

The  wind  shall  brood  o'er  prostrate  sea 
And  fail  to  move  the  ash's  crest 

Or  stir  the  stilly  cypress  trees. 
Be  no  forecaster  of  the  dawn; 

Deem  it  an  asset,  and  be  gay — 
Come,  merge  to-morrow's  misty  morn 

In  the  resplendence  of  to-day." 

And,  after  all  this,  it  was  an  easy  step,  lightly  taken,  to 
the  things  of  night.  We  set  out  for  the  strange  streets;  and 
there,  in  the  night  air,  the  precocious  young  pedant,  Edgar 
Doe,  became,  despite  all  the  new  theories,  the  shy,  simple 
boy  he  really  was.  We  would  both  become  shy — shy  of  each 
other,  and  shy  of  the  shameful  doorway. 

And  then  the  misery  of  the  morning,  to  be  quickly  forgotten 
in  the  joy  of  life ! 

§5 

It  was  now  that  the  Battle  of  Neuve  Chapelle  quenched 
Pennybet.  Archibald  Pennybet,  the  boy  who  left  school,  de- 
termined to  conquer  the  world,  and  coolly  confident  of  his 
power  to  mould  circumstances  to  his  own  ends,  was  crushed 
like  an  insect  beneath  the  heavy  foot  of  war.  He  was  just 
put  out  by  a  high-explosive  shell.  It  didn't  kill  him  outright, 
but  whipped  forty  jagged  splinters  into  his  body.     He  was 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  191 

taken  to  an  Advanced  Dressing  Station,  where  a  chaplain, 
who  told  us  about  his  last  minutes,  found  him,  swathed  in 
bandages  from  his  head  to  his  heel.  On  a  stretcher  that 
rested  on  trestles  he  was  lying,  conscious,  though  a  little 
confused  by  morphia.  He  saw  the  chaplain  approaching  him, 
and  murmured,  **Hallo,  padre.''  So  numerous  were  his  band- 
ages that  the  chaplain  saw  nothing  of  the  boy  who  was  speak- 
ing save  the  lazy  Arab  eyes  and  the  mouth  that  had  framed 
impudence  for  twenty  years. 

"Hallo,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself?''  asked  the 
chaplain. 

"Oh,  only  trying  conclusions  with  an  H.E.,  padre."  The 
mouth  smiled  at  the  comers. 

"What  about  a  cup  of  tea,  now?    Could  you  drink  it?" 

"I'll— try,  padre."    The  eyes  twinkled  a  little. 

So  the  chaplain  brought  a  mug  of  stewed  tea,  and  Penny, 
laughing  weakly,   said: 

"You'll — have  to  pour  it  down — for  me,  padre.  I  can't 
move  a  muscle.  These  bloody  bandages — sorry,  padre — these 
bandages.    O  God " 

"In  pain  ?"  gently  inquired  the  chaplain. 

"No.    Only  a  prisoner.    I  can't  move.    Pour  the  tea  down." 

He  gulped  a  little  of  the  drink,  and,  dropping  the  heavily- 
fringed  eyelids,  so  that  he  appeared  to  be  asleep,  muttered : 

"I  suppose — I  haven't  a  dog's  chance.  Find  out  if — I'm 
done  for.    Find  out  for  me,  please." 

"I  asked  the  doctor  before  I  came  to  you,  old  chap." 

On  hearing  this.  Penny  opened  and  shut  his  eyes,  and  re- 
mained so  long  just  breathing  that  the  chaplain  wondered  if 
he  had  lost  consciousness.  But  the  eyes  unclosed  again,  and 
the  lips  asked : 

"Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me,  padre?" 

"Yes,  I — you  won't  be  a  prisoner  much  longer,  old  chap." 

Not  a  word  said  Penny,  but  stared  in  wonder  at  his  in- 
formant. It  was  clear  that  he  wanted  to  live,  and  to  mould 
the  world  to  his  will.  There  was  a  long  silence,  and  then  he 
murmured : 

"Well,  there  are  lots  of  others — who've  gone  through  it 
— and  lots  more  who'll — have  to  go."  And  he  shut  his  eyes 
in  weary  submission. 


192  Tell  England  book  n 

The  chaplain  suggested  a  prayer  with  him,  and  Penny  agreed 
in  the  half-jesting  words:  "But  you'll — have  to  do  it  all  for 
me,  just  as  you  poured  the  tea  down.  I'm  no  good  at  that 
sort  of  thing." 

And,  when  the  prayer  was  over,  he  said  with  his  old 
haughtiness : 

"You  know,  padre — I  was  thinking — while  you  prayed. 
I  suppose  IVe  led  a  selfish  life — seeking  my  own  ends — but, 
by  Jove,  I've  had  my  good  time — and  am  ready  to  pay  for  it 
— if  I  must."  His  eyes  flashed  defiantly.  "If  God  puts  me 
through  it,  /  shan't  whine." 

As  the  end  drew  nearer,  he  turned  more  and  more  into  a 
child.  After  all,  he  had  never  come  of  age.  He  spoke  about 
his  mother,  sending  her  his  love,  and  saying:  "Fm  afraid, 
padre,  that  I  led  her  a  life — but  Til  bet  she'd  rather  have  had 
me  and  my  plagues  than  not.    Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

He  mentioned  us  with  affection  as  "those  two  kids,"  and 
sent  the  message  that  he  hoped  we  at  least  should  come  through 
all  right. 

And  then  the  lazy  eyes  closed  in  their  last  weariness,  the 
impudent  lips  parted,  and  Penny  was  dead.  The  War  had 
beaten  him.    It  was  too  big  a  circumstance  for  him  to  tame. 


§6 

The  night  we  heard  of  it,  Doe  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
and  said: 

"I'm  miserable  to-night,  Rupert." 

"So'm  I,"  said  I,  looking  out  of  the  window  over  a  moon- 
lit sea.  "Poor  old  Penny.  I  don't  know  why  it  makes  one 
feel  a  cur,  but  it  does,  doesn't  it?" 

"Surely,"  answered  Doe. 

For  a  time  we  smoked  our  pipes  in  silence.  I  gazed  at 
the  long  silver  pathway  that  the  light  of  the  moon  had  laid 
on  the  sea.  Right  on  the  horizon,  where  the  pathway  met 
the  sky,  a  boat  with  a  tall  sail  stood  black  against  the  light. 
Fancifully  I  imagined  that  its  dark  shape  resembled  the  out- 
line of  a  man — say,  perhaps,  the  figure  of  Destiny — walking 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  193 

down  the  sparkling  pathway  towards  us.  I  was  in  the  mood 
to  fancy  such  things.    Then  Doe  from  his  chair  said : 

"Old  Penny  always  took  the  lead  with  us,  didn't  he?  He's 
taken  it  again." 

"I  don't  see  what  you  mean,"  answered  I. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter  what  I  mean.  I'm  depressed  to- 
night." 

We  spoke  of  it  with  the  Colonel  the  next  afternoon,  when 
we  were  having  tea  in  his  private  room. 

"It  doesn't  seem  fair,"  complained  Doe.  "He  could  have 
done  anything  with  his  life,"  and  he  added  rather  tritely: 
"Penny's  story  which  might  have  been  monumental  is  now 
only  a  sort  of  broken  pillar  over  a  churchyard  grave." 

"Nonsense,"  snapped  the  Colonel.  "It  was  splendid,  per- 
fectly splendid."  And  he  arose  from  his  chair  and  took  down 
from  a  shelf  a  little  blue  volume  bearing  the  title  "1914." 
With  a  pencil  he  underlined  certain  phrases  in  a  sonnet,  and 
handed  the  book  to  us.  Doe  brought  his  head  close  to  mine, 
and  we  leant  over  the  marked  page  and  read  the  lines  to- 
gether : 

"These  laid  the  world  away,  poured  out  the  red 
Sweet  wine  of  youth,  gave  up  the  years  to  be 
Of  hope  and  joy — 

Blow,  bugles,  blow — 

Nobleness  walks  in  our  ways  again *' 

The  Colonel — how  like  him! — saw  the  story  of  Pennybet, 
not  as  a  broken  pillar,  but  as  a  graceful,  upright  column,  with 
a  richly  foliated  capital. 


§7 

The  march  of  History  in  these  wonderful  months  brought 
with  it  an  event  that  stirred  the  world.  This  was  the  first 
great  landing  of  the  British  Forces  on  the  toe  of  the  GallipoH 
Peninsula,  in  their  attempt  to  win  a  way  for  the  Allied  Navy 
through  the  Straits  of  the  Dardanelles.  On  April  25th,  1915, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  the  men  of  the  29th  Division  came  up 


194  Tell  England  book  n 

like  a  sea-breeze  out  of  the  sea,  and,  driving  the  Turks  and 
Germans  from  their  coastal  defences,  swept  clear  for  themselves 
a  small  tract  of  breathing  room  across  that  extremity  of  Tur- 
key. Leaping  out  of  their  boats,  and  crashing  through  a 
murderous  fire,  they  won  a  footing  on  Cape  Helles,  and  planted 
their  feet  firmly  on  the  invaded  territory. 

Three  Kensingtonians  known  to  us  fell  dead  in  that  costly 
battle.  Stanley,  who  tried  me  in  the  Prefects'  Room,  took 
seven  machine-gun  bullets  in  his  body,  and  died  in  a  lighter  as 
it  approached  the  beach.  Lancaster,  who  in  less  grand  years 
would  undoubtedly  have  bowled  for  Oxford  and  England, 
lay  down  on  W.  Beach  and  died.  And  White,  the  gentle  giant 
— Moles  White,  who  swam  so  bravely  in  the  Bramhail-Erasmus 
Race,  was  knocked  out  somewhere  on  the  high  ground  inland. 

And,  almost  immediately  after  that  distant  battle  of  the 
Helles  beaches,  in  the  early  days  of  May,  when  England  was 
all  blossom  and  bud,  our  First  Line  of  the  Cheshires  was 
landed  on  Gallipoli  to  support  the  29th  Division.  The  news 
was  all  over  the  regiment  in  no  time.  The  First  Line  had  gone 
to  the  Dardanelles!  Had  we  heard  the  latest?  The  First 
Line  were  actually  on  Gallipoli! 

Consider  what  it  meant  to  us.  We  were  the  Second  Line, 
whose  object  was  to  supply  reinforcing  drafts  to  the  First 
Line  in  whatever  country  it  might  be  ordered  to  fight.  The 
First  Line — we  were  proud  of  the  fact — had  been  the  first 
territorial  division  to  leave  England.  In  September,  1914,  it 
had  sailed  away,  in  an  fmposing  convoy  of  transports  escorted 
by  cruisers  and  destroyers,  under  orders  to  garrison  Egypt. 
There  it  had  acted  as  the  Army  of  Occupation  till  that  April 
day  when  the  29th  Division  laughed  at  the  prophecies  of  the 
German  experts  and  stormed  from  the  ^gean  Sea  the  beaches 
of  Cape  Helles.  Scarcely  had  the  news  electrified  Egypt  be- 
fore the  First  Line  received  its  orders  to  embark  for  Overseas. 
And  every  man  of  them  knew  what  that  meant. 

So  all  we  of  the  2nd  Tenth  seemed  marked  down  like 
branded  sheep  for  the  Gallipoli  front.  The  Colonel  was  full 
of  it.  With  his  elect  mind  that  saw  right  into  the  heart  of 
things,  he  quickly  unveiled  the  poetry  and  romance  of  Britain's 
great  enterprise  at  Gallipoli.  He  crowded  all  his  young  officers 
into  his  private  room  for  a  lecture  on  the  campaign  that  was 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  195 

calling  them.  Having  placed  them  on  chairs,  on  the  carpet, 
on  the  hearth-rug,  and  on  the  fender,  he  seated  himself  at 
his  writing-table,  like  a  hen  in  the  midst  of  its  chickens,  and 
began : 

"For  epic  and  dramatic  interest  this  Dardanelles  business  is 
easily  top/' 

To  the  Colonel  everything  that  he  was  enthusiastic  about 
was  epic  and  dramatic  and  "on  top/'  Just  as  he  told  us  that 
our  day  was  the  day  and  our  generation  the  generation,  so 
now  he  set  out  to  assure  us  that  Gallipoh  was  the  front. 

"If  you'll  only  get  at  the  IDEAS  behind  what's  going  on 
at  the  Helles  beaches,"  he  declared,  with  a  rap  on  the  table, 
"you'll  be  thrilled,  boys." 

Then  he  reminded  us  that  the  Dardanelles  Straits  were 
the  Hellespont  of  the  Ancient  world,  and  the  neighbouring 
l/Egean  Sea  the  most  mystic  of  the  "wine-dark  seas  of  Greece" : 
he  retold  stories  of  Jason  and  the  Argonauts;  of  "Burning 
Sappho"  in  Lesbos;  of  Achilles  in  Scyros;  of  Poseidon  sit- 
ting upon  Samothrace  to  watch  the  fight  at  Troy;  and  of  St. 
John  the  Divine  at  Patmos  gazing  up  into  the  Heavenly  Jeru- 
salem. 

As  he  spoke,  we  were  schoolboys  again  and  listened  with 
wide-open,  wistful  eyes.  From  the  fender  and  the  hearth- 
rug, we  saw  Leander  swimming  to  Hero  across  the  Darda- 
nelles; we  saw  Darius,  the  Persian,  throwing  his  bridge  over 
the  same  narrow  passage,  only  to  be  defeated  at  Marathon; 
and  Xerxes,  too,  bridging  the  famous  straits  to  carry  victory 
into  Greece,  till  at  last  his  navy  went  under  at  Salamis.  We 
saw  the  pathetic  figure  of  Byron  swimming  where  Leander 
swam;  and,  in  all,  such  an  array  of  visions  that  the  lure  of 
the  Eternal  Waterway  gripped  us,  and  we  were  a-fidget  to  be 
there. 

"Have  eyes  to  see  this  idea  also,"  said  the  Colonel,  who  was 
a  Tory  of  Tories.  "England  dominates  Gibraltar  and  Suez, 
the  doors  of  the  Mediterranean;  let  her  complete  her  constella- 
tion by  winning  from  the  Turk  the  lost  star  of  the  Darda- 
nelles, the  only  other  entrance  to  the  Great  Sea." 

This  roused  the  jingo  devil  in  us,  and  we  burst  into  applause. 

Knowing  thereby  that  he  had  won  his  audience,  the  Colonel 


196  Tell  England  book  h 

beamed  with  inspiration.  He  rose,  as  though  so  enthralling  a 
subject  could  only  be  dealt  with  standing,  and  cried: 

"See  this  greater  idea.  For  500  years  the  Turk,  by  occupy- 
ing Constantinople,  has  blocked  the  old  Royal  Road  to  India 
and  the  East.  He  is  astride  the  very  centre  of  the  highways 
that  should  link  up  the  continents.  He  oppresses  and  destroys 
the  Arab  world,  which  should  be  the  natural  junction  of  the 
great  trunk  railways  that,  to-morrow,  shall  join  Asia,  Africa, 
and  Europe  in  one  splendid  spider's  web.  You  are  going  to 
move  the  block  from  the  line,  and  to  join  the  hands  of  the 
continents.  Understand,  and  be  enthusiastic.  I  tell  you,  this 
joining  of  the  continents  is  an  unborn  babe  of  history  that 
leapt  in  the  womb  the  moment  the  British  battleships  appeared 
off  Cape  Helles." 

"By  Jove,  the  Colonel's  great!"  thought  I,  as  my  heart 
jumped  at  his  magnificent  words.  "Where  are  his  scoffers 
to-day?  He's  come  into  his  own."  Lord,  how  small  my  little 
vanities  seemed  now!  A  fig  for  them  all!  I  was  going  out 
to  build  history.  The  Colonel  had  one  at  least  who  was  with 
him  to  the  death. 

"So  much  for  secular  interest,"  continued  the  Colonel,  drop- 
ping his  voice.  "Now,  boys,  follow  me  through  this.  You're 
not  over-reHgious,  I  expect,  but  you're  Christians  before 
you're  Moslems,  and  your  hands  should  fly  to  your  swords  when 
I  say  the  Gallipoli  campaign  is  a  New  Crusade.  You're  going 
out  to  force  a  passage  through  the  Dardanelles  to  Constanti- 
nople. And  Constantinople  is  a  sacred  city.  It's  the  only 
ancient  city  purely  Christian  in  its  origin,  having  been  built 
by  the  first  Christian  Emperor  in  honour  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
Which  brings  us  to  the  noblest  idea  of  all.  In  their  fight  to 
wrest  this  city  from  the  Turk,  the  three  great  divisions  of  the 
Church  are  united  once  more.  The  great  Roman  branch  is 
represented  by  the  soldiers  and  ships  of  France:  the  great 
Eastern  Orthodox  branch  by  the  Russians,  who  are  behind  the 
fight:  the  great  Anglican  branch  by  the  British,  who  can 
be  proud  to  have  started  the  movement,  and  to  be  leading 
it.  Thus  Christendom  United  fights  for  Constantinople,  under 
the  leadership  of  the  British,  whose  flag  is  made  up  of  the 
crosses  of  the  saints.  The  army  opposing  the  Christians  fights 
under  the  crescent  of  Islam. 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  197 

"It's  the  Cross  against  the  Crescent  again,  my  lads.  By 
Jove,  it's  splendid,  perfectly  splendid !  And  an  English  cross, 
too! 

'Thank  you,  gentlemen;  that's  all;  thank  you." 


§8 

The  blossom  and  buds  of  our  English  May  became  the 
fruit  and  flowers  of  July,  and  Doe  and  I,  maturing  too, 
entered  upon  the  age  for  Active  Service.  There  came  a  day 
when  we  were  ordered  to  report  for  a  doctor's  examination 
to  see  if  we  were  fit  for  the  front. 

I  shan't  forget  that  testing.  All  thought  we  had  little  to 
fear  from  the  doctor.  The  drills  and  route-marches  in  sun, 
wind  and  rain  had  tanned  our  flesh  to  pink  and  brown,  and 
lit  the  lamps  of  health  in  our  eyes.  And  the  whites  of  those 
eyes  were  blue-white. 

But  the  doctor,  a  curt  major,  said  ''Strip,"  and  took  Doe 
first. 

Now,  a  glance  at  Doe,  when  stripped,  ought  to  have  satisfied 
a  doctor.  His  figure,  small  in  the  hips,  widened  to  a  chest 
like  a  Greek  statue's ;  his  limbs  were  slender  and  rounded ;  his 
skin  was  a  baby's.  But  no,  the  stolid  old  doctor  carried  on,  as 
though  Doe  were  nothing  to  sing  songs  about.  He  tested  his 
eyes,  surveyed  his  teeth,  tried  his  chest,  tapping  him  before 
and  behind,  and  telling  him  to  say  "99"  and  to  cough.  All 
these  liberties  so  amused  Doe  that  he  could  scarcely  manage  the 
"99"  or  the  cough  for  giggling.  And  I  was  doing  my  best 
to  increase  his  difliculty  by  pretending  to  be  in  convulsions 
of  smothered  laughter. 

Then  the  doctor  sounded  Doe's  heart,  and,  as  he  did  it, 
all  the  laughter  went  out  of  my  life.  I  suddenly  remembered 
a  scene,  wherein  I  lay  in  the  baths  at  Kensingtowe,  recovering 
from  a  faint,  and  Dr.  Chappy  looked  down  upon  me  and  said : 
"There  may  be  a  weakness  at  your  heart."  As  I  remembered 
it,  the  first  time  for  years,  my  heart  missed  its  beats.  I  saw 
rapidly  succeeding  visions  cf  my  rejection  by  the  doctor;  my 
farewell  to  Doe,  as  he  left  for  romantic  Gallipoli ;  and  my  re- 
turn to  the  undistinguished  career  of  the  Medically  Unfit.    I 


198  Tell  England  book  n 

found  myself  repeating,  after  the  fashion  of  younger  days 
(though  at  this  wild-colt  period  I  had  done  with  God) : 
"O  God,  make  him  pass  me.    O  God,  make  him  pass  me." 

"All  right,  get  dressed,"  the  doctor  commanded  Doe. 

*'Come  here,  you,"  he  said  to  me,  brutally. 

My  eyes,  teeth,  and  chest  satisfied  him;  and  then,  like  a 
loathly  eavesdropper,  he  listened  at  my  heart.  I  was  afraid 
my  nervousness  would  cause  some  irregular  action  of  the  de- 
testable organ  that  would  finally  down  me  in  his  eyes. 

"All  right,  get  dressed,"  he  said ;  and,  having  put  his  stetho- 
scope away,  he  wrote  something  on  two  printed  Army  Forms 
and  sealed  them. 

"Are  we  fit,  sir  ?"  asked  I,  in  suspense. 

"I've  written  my  verdict,"  he  said  snappily,  looking  at  me 
as  much  as  to  say:  "You  aren't  asked  to  converse.  This 
isn't  a  conversazione" ;  but,  when  he  caught  my  gaze,  he  seemed 
to  repent  of  his  harshness,  and  answered  gruffly: 

"Both  perfect." 

"Oh,  thanks,  sir,"  said  I.    I  could  have  kissed  the  old  churl. 

And  so,  before  July  was  out,  when  Doe  and  I  were  at  our 
separate  homes  on  a  last  leave,  we  received  from  the  Director- 
General  of  Movements  our  Embarkation  Orders.  Marked 
"SECRET,"  the  documents  informed  us  that  we  were  to  re- 
port at  Devonport  "in  service  dress  uniform,"  with  a  view 
to  proceeding  to  "the  Mediterranean."  Seemingly  we  were 
to  take  no  drafts  of  men,  but  travel  independently  as  rein- 
forcements to  the  First  Line  at  Cape  Helles. 

My  mother  turned  very  white  when  I  showed  her  the  letter. 
She  had  heard  ugly  things  about  the  Gallipoli  Peninsula. 
People  were  saying  that  the  life  of  a  junior  subaltern  on 
Helles  was  working  out  to  an  average  of  fourteen  days;  and 
that,  in  the  heat,  the  flies  and  dust  were  scattering  broadcast 
the  germs  of  dysentery  and  enteric.  And  I  believe  my  restless 
excitement  hurt  her.  But  she  only  said :  "I'm  so  proud  of  it 
all,"  and  kissed  me. 

The  last  night,  however,  as  she  sat  in  her  chair,  and  I, 
after  walking  excitedly  about,  stood  in  front  of  her,  she  took 
both  my  hands  and  drew  me,  facing  her,  against  her  knees. 
I  know  she  found  it  sweet  and  poignant  to  have  me  in  that 
position,  for,  when  I  was  a  very  small  boy,  it  had  been  thus 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  199 

that  she  had  drawn  me  to  tell  me  stories  of  my  grandfather, 
Colonel  Ray.  She  had  dropped  the  habit,  when  I  was  a  shy 
and  undemonstrative  schoolboy,  but  had  resumed  it  happily 
during  the  last  two  years,  for,  by  then,  I  had  learnt  in  my 
growing  mannishness  to  delight  in  half -pro  tectingly,  half- 
childishly  stroking  and  embracing  her. 

She  drew  me,  then,  this  last  night  against  her  knees  and 
looked  lovingly  at  me.  Her  yearning  heart  was  in  her  eyes. 
Her  hands,  clasping  mine,  involuntarily  gripped  them  very 
tight,  as  though  she  were  thinking:  ''1  cannot  give  him  up; 
I  cannot  let  him  go." 

I  smiled  down  at  her,  and,  as  I  saw  the  moisture  veil  her 
eyes,  I  felt  that  I,  too,  would  like  to  cry.    At  last  she  said : 

*lf  Vm  never  to  see  you  again,  Rupert,  I  shall  yet  always 
be  thankful  for  the  nineteen  years*  happiness  you've  given  me." 

"Oh,  mother,"  I  said.  No  more  words  could  I  utter,  for 
my  eyes  were  smarting  worse  than  ever.  I  felt  about  eight 
years  old. 

"If  all  the  rest  of  my  life  had  to  be  sorrow,"  she  whispered, 
no  longer  concealing  the  fact  that  she  was  breaking  down,  "the 
last  nineteen  years  of  you,  Rupert,  have  made  it  all  so  well 
worth  living.  I  shall  have  had  more  happiness  out  of  it  than 
sorrow.    Thank  you — for  all  youVe  given  me." 

She  let  go  of  my  left  hand,  so  as  to  free  her  own,  with 
which  she  might  wipe  her  overflowing  eyes.  Then  she  dropped 
the  cambric  handkerchief  into  her  lap,  and  grasped  my  hand 
again.  As  for  me,  I  kept  silence,  for  my  mother's  thanks  were 
making  my  breath  come  in  those  short,  quick  gasps,  which  a 
man  must  control  if  he  would  prevent  them  breaking  into  sobs. 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  "you  had  his  eyes.  Your  grand- 
father used  to  say  of  you,  *he  has  that  Rupert's  eyes.' " 

"Mother!"  I  ejaculated.  Only  in  that  last  moment  did  I, 
thoughtless  boy  that  I  was,  enter  into  an  understanding  of 
my  mother's  love  for  the  father  I  had  never  seen.  In  the 
last  evening  of  nineteen  years  there  was  revealed  to  me  all 
that  my  mother's  young  widowhood  had  meant  to  her. 

"I  didn't  want  to  break  down,"  she  apologised,  drawing 
me  even  closer  to  her,  as  though  appealing  for  my  forgiveness, 
"but,  oh !  I  couldn't  help  it.  I've  never  loved  you  so  desper- 
ately as  I  do  at  this  moment." 


200  Tell  England  book  h 

''Mother/'  I  stuttered,  "Fve  been  rotten — more  rotten  than 
you  know/' 

"No,  my  big  boy,  you've  been  perfect.  I  wouldn't  have 
had  you  diiferent  in  any  way.  Everything  about  you  pleased 
me.    And  how — how  can  I  give  you  up  ?" 

'I'll  come  back  to  you,  mother.    I  swear  I  will." 

"Oh,  but  you  mustn't  allow  any  thought  of  me  to  unnerve 
you  out  there,  Rupert,"  she  said,  quickly  releasing  my  hands, 
lest  it  were  traitorous  to  hold  me  back.    "Do  everything  you 

are  called  to  do — however  dangerous "    The  word  caused 

her  to  sob.  "Don't  think  of  me  when  you've  got  to  fight.  No, 
I  don't  mean  that "  Mother  was  torn  between  her  emo- 
tions. "Rather  think  of  me,  and  do  the — dangerous  thing — 
if  it's  right — yes,  do  it — because  I  want  you  to,  but  oh!"  she 
sobbed,  "come  back  to  me — come  back — come  back." 

I  leant  over  and,  lifting  her  face  up  gently  with  both  my 
hands,  kissed  her  and  said : 

"Yes,  mother." 

And  then  by  a  sudden  effort  of  her  will  she  seemed  to  re- 
cover.    She  said  smilingly  and  almost  calmly : 

"I'm  so  proud.    I  think  it's  wonderful  your  going  out  there." 


§9 

What  more  is  there  to  tell  of  that  old  first  period  of  my 
life  which  ended  at  the  gates  of  Devonport  Dockyard  ?  There 
was  a  long  railway  journey  with  Doe,  where  half  the  best 
of  green  England,  clad  in  summer  dress,  swept  in  panorama 
past  our  carriage  windows.  Perhaps  we  both  watched  it 
pass  a  little  wistfully.  Perhaps  we  thought  of  bygone  holiday- 
runs,  when  we  had  watched  the  same  telegraph  lines  switch- 
backing  to  Falmouth.  There  was  a  one-night  stay  at  the 
Royal  Hotel,  Devonport;  and  a  walk  together  in  the  fresh 
morning  down  to  the  Docks.  There  was  a  woman  who 
touched  Doe's  sleeve  and  said:  "You  poor  dear  lamb,"  and 
annoyed  him  grievously.  There  was  the  fat  policeman's  chal- 
lenge at  the  gates.    And  then  we  were  through. 

We  had  walked  a  little  way,  when  a  boy  from  the  Royal 


PART  I  The  Eternal  Waterway  201 

Hotel,  whom  the  policeman  suffered  to  pass,  ran  up  to  us  like 
a  messenger  from  a  world  we  had  left  behind. 

"Lieutenant  Ray,  sir,"  he  called. 

I  turned  round  and  said  "Yes?*'  inquiringly. 

"Here's  a  telegram,  sir,  that  arrived  just  after  you  left." 

I  took  it  undismayed,  knowing  it  to  be  yet  another  telegram 
of  good  wishes.  "I'll  bet  you,  you  poor  dear  lamb,"  I  said 
to  Doe,  "the  words  are  either  *Good-bye  and  God-speed,'  or 
'Cheerioh  and  a  safe  return.'  " 

"Not  taking  the  bet,"  said  Doe.  "How  else  could  it  be 
phrased  ?" 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  said  I,  and  opened  the  envelope.  The 
words  were: 

"I  am  with  you  every  moment — Mother." 


CHAPTER  II 

PADRE  lUONTY  AND   MAJOR  HARDY   COME  ABOARD 

DOE  and  I  have  often  looked  back  on  our  first  glimpse  of 
Padre  Monty  and  wondered  why  nothing  foreshadowed 
all  that  he  was  going  to  be  to  us.  We  had  entered  the  Trans- 
port Office  on  one  of  the  Devonport  Quays,  to  report  accord- 
ing to  orders.  Several  other  officers  were  before  us,  handing 
in  their  papers  to  a  Staff  Officer.  The  one  in  a  chaplain's 
uniform,  bearing  on  his  back  a  weighty  Tommy's  pack,  that 
made  him  look  like  a  campaigner  from  France,  was  Padre 
Monty.  We  could  only  see  his  back,  but  it  seemed  the  back 
of  a  young  man,  spare,  lean,  and  vigorous.  His  colloquy 
with  the  Staff  Officer  was  creating  some  amusement  in  his 
audience. 

'Well,  padre,"  the  Staff  Officer  was  saying,  as  he  handed 
back  Monty's  papers,  'T'm  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  you." 

"The  Army  always  is  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  padres,"  re- 
joined Monty  pleasantly,  as  he  took  the  papers  and  placed 
them  in  a  pocket.  "However,  you  needn't  worry,  because, 
having  got  so  far,  I'm  going  on  this  blooming  boat." 

"But  I've  no  official  intimation  of  your  embarking  on  the 
Rangoon!' 

Padre  Monty  picked  up  a  square  leather  case  and,  moving  to 
the  door,  said: 

"No,  but  you've  ocular  demonstration  of  it." 

And  he  was  gone. 

When  our  turn  came,  the  Staff  Officer  consulted  a  list  of 
names  before  him  and  said: 

"The  Rangoon.    She's  at  the  quay  opposite  the  Great  Crane." 

The  Rangoon,  as  we  drew  near,  showed  herself  to  be  a  spiers 
did  liner,  painted  from  funnel  to  keel  the  uniform  dull-black 


PART  I      Padre  Monty  and  Major  Hardy  203 

of  a  transport.  All  over  and  about  this  great  black  thing 
scurried  and  swarmed  khaki  figures,  busy  in  the  work  of  em- 
barkation. We  rushed  up  the  long  gangway,  and  pleaded 
with  the  Embarkation  Officer  for  a  two-berth  cabin  to  our- 
selves. The  gentleman  damned  us  most  heartily,  and  said: 
*Take  No.  54."  We  hurried  away  to  the  State  Rooms  and 
flung  our  kit  triumphantly  on  to  the  bunks  of  Cabin  54. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  a  mysterious  occupant  of  Cabin 
55,  next  door,  who  had  been  singing  "A  Life  on  the  Ocean 
Wave/'  came  to  the  end  of  his  song  and  roared :  "Steward !" ; 
after  which  he  commenced  to  whistle  "The  Death  of  Nelson." 
We  heard  the  steps  of  the  steward  pass  along  the  alley-way 
and  enter  55. 

"Yes,  sir?"  his  voice  inquired. 

But  our  neighbour  was  not  to  be  interrupted  in  his  tune. 
He  whistled  it  to  its  last  note,  and  then  said : 

"I  say,  steward,  Tm  sure  you're  not  at  all  a  damnable  fel- 
low, so  I  want  you  to  understand  early  that  you'll  get  into 
awful  trouble  if  Fm  not  looked  after  properly — what.  There'll 
be  the  most  deplorable  row  if  I'm  not  looked  after  properly." 

"Well,  I'm  hanged!"  whispered  Doe.  "I'm  going  to  see 
who  the  merchant  is."  He  disappeared;  and  was  back  in 
ten  seconds,  muttering,  "Good  Lord,  Rupert,  it's  a  middle- 
aged  major  with  a  monocle;  and  its  kit's  marked  'Hardy.' " 

And,  while  we  were  wondering  at  such  spirits  in  a  major, 
and  in  one  who  was  both  middle-aged  and  monocled,  two  bells 
sounded  from  the  bows,  two  more  answered  like  an  echo  from 
the  boat-deck  above,  and  Major  Hardy  was  heard  departing 
with  unbecoming  haste  down  the  alley-way. 

"What's  that  mean?"  asked  Doe. 

"Luncheon  bell,  I  s'pose,"  replied  I.     "Come  along." 

We  found  our  way  down  to  the  huge  dining  saloon,  which 
was  furnished  with  thirty  separate  tables.  Looking  for  a 
place  where  we  could  lunch  together,  we  saw  two  seats  next 
the  padre,  whose  conversation  in  the  Transport  Office  had 
entertained  us.  We  picked  a  route  through  the  other  tables 
towards  him. 

"Are  these  two  seats  reserved,  sir?"  I  asked. 

Padre  Monty  turned  a  lean  face  towards  Doe  and  me,  and 
looked  us  up  and  down. 


204  Tell  England  book  ii 

"Yes,"  he  said.    '^Reserved  for  you." 

I  smiled  at  so  flattering  a  way  of  putting  it,  and,  sitting 
down,  mumbled:    "Thanks  awfully." 

There  were  two  other  people  already  at  the  table.  One 
was  a  long  and  languid  young  subaltern,  named  Jimmy  Doon, 
who  declared  that  he  had  lost  his  draft  of  men  (about  eighty 
of  them)  and  felt  much  happier  without  them.  He  thought 
they  were  perhaps  on  another  boat. 

"Are  they  officially  on  board  the  Rangoon?"  asked  Padre 
Monty. 

"Officially  they  are,"  sighed  Jimmy  Doon,  "but  that's  all. 
However,  I  expect  if  s  enough." 

"Well,  your  draft  is  better  off  than  I  am,"  said  Monty. 
"It  at  least  exists  officially,  whereas  I'm  missing.  I  haven't 
officially  arrived  at  Devonport.  The  War  Office  will  probably 
spend  months  and  reams  of  paper  (which  is  getting  scarce) 
in  looking  for  me.     But  I  don't  suppose  it  matters." 

"Oh,  what  does  anything  matter?"  grumbled  Jimmy  Doon. 
"We  shall  all  be  dead  in  a  month — all  my  draft  and  you  and 
I;  and  that'll  save  the  War  Office  a  lot  of  trouble  and  a 
lot  of  paper."  He  trifled  with  a  piece  of  bread,  and  concluded 
wearily:  "Besides  this  unseemly  war  will  be  over  in  six 
months.    The  Germans  will  have  us  beaten  by  then." 

At  this  point  the  other  passenger  at  the  table  gave  us  a 
shock  by  suddenly  disclosing  his  identity.  He  put  a  monocle  in 
his  eye,  summoned  a  steward,  and  explained: 

"This  is  my  seat  at  meals — what.  .Do  you  see,  steward? 
And  understand,  there'll  be  the  most  awful  bloody  row,  if  I'm 
not  looked  after  properly." 

Major  Hardy  dropped  the  monocle  on  his  chest  and  apolo- 
gised to  Monty:  "Sorry,  padre."  Then  he  took  the  menu 
from  the  steward,  and,  having  replaced  his  monocle  and  read 
down  a  list  of  no  less  than  fourteen  courses,  announced: 

"Straight  through,  steward — mhat!' 

The  steward  seemed  a  trifle  taken  aback,  but  concealed  his 
emotion  and  passed  the  menu  to  Jimmy  Doon.  Mr.  Doon,  it 
was  clear,  found  in  this  choosing  of  a  dish  an  intellectual  crisis 
of  the  first  order. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  steward,  damn  you,"  he  sighed.  "I'll 
have  a  tedious  lemon  sole.     No — as  you  were — I'll  have  a 


PART  I       Padre  Monty  and  Major  Hardy  205 

grilled  chop."  And,  quite  spent  with  this  effort,  he  fell  to 
making  balls  out  of  pellets  of  bread  and  playing  clock  golf 
with  a  spoon. 

During  the  meal  Major  Hardy  and  Padre  Monty  talked 
"France/'  as  veterans  from  the  Western  Front  will  continue 
to  do  till  their  generation  has  passed  away. 

"I  was  wounded  at  Neuve  Chapelle — what''  explained  the 
Major.  "Sent  to  a  convalescent  home  in  Blighty.  Discharged 
as  fit  for  duty  the  day  we  heard  of  the  landing  at  Cape  Helles. 
Moved  Heaven  and  earth,  and  ultimately  the  War  Office,  to 
be  allowed  to  go  to  Gallipoli." 

(Major  Hardy  might  have  said  more.  He  might  have  told 
us  that  he  had  been  recommended  once  for  a  D.S.O.,  and  twice 
for  a  court-martial,  because  he  persisted  in  devoting  his  play- 
time to  sharpshooting  and  sniping  in  No  Man's  Land,  and 
to  leading  unauthorfsed  patrols  on  to  the  enemy's  wire.  But 
It  was  not  till  later  that  we  were  to  learn  why  he  had  been 
known  throughout  his  Army  Corps  as  Major  Fool-hardy. 

Padre  Monty  had  not  been  wounded,  it  seemed,  but  only 
buried  alive. 

"The  doctor  and  I  had  been  taking  cover  in  a  shell-hole," 
he  explained,  between  the  sweet  and  the  dessert,  "when  a  high- 
explosive  hurled  the  whole  of  our  shelter  on  top  of  us,  leaving 
only  our  heads  free.  We  were  two  heads  sticking  out  of 
the  ground  like  two  turnips.  After  about  five  hours  the  CO. 
sent  a  runner  to  find  the  padre  and  the  M.O.,  alive  or  dead. 
The  fellow  traced  us  to  our  shell-hole,  and  when  he  saw  our 
heads,  he  actually  came  to  attention  and  saluted.  The  CO. 
would  like  to  see  you  in  the  Mess,  sir,'  said  he  to  me.  'And 
I  should  dearly  like  to  see  him  in  the  Mess,'  said  I.  'How- 
ever, stand  at  ease.'  'Stand  at  the  devil/  said  the  doctor. 
*Go  and  get  spades  and  dig  us  out.' " 

"Hum,"  commented  Major  Hardy,  "if  you  weren't  a  padre, 
I  should  believe  that  story.    But  all  padre  are  liars,  what'' 

Monty  bowed  acknowledgments. 

"And  then,"  suggested  the  Major,  "you  felt  the  pull  of 
the  Dardanelles." 

"Exactly,  who  could  resist  it?  I  wasn't  going  to  miss  the 
most  romantic  fight  of  all.    The  whole  world's  off  to  the  Dar- 


206  Tell  England  book  h 

dandles.  I  knew  the  East  Cheshire's  chaplain  was  coming 
home,  time  expired,  so  I  applied " 

"How  ripping!  That's  our  brigade,"  interrupted  I,  un- 
consciously  returning  his  previous  flattery. 

"Is  that  so?"  said  he.  "Well,  let's  go  above  and  get  to 
know  one  another." 

We  went  on  deck,  he,  Doe,  and  I,  and  watched  the  new 
arrivals.  Troop-trains  were  rolling  right  up  to  the  quay  and 
disgorging  hundreds  of  men,  spruce  in  their  tropical  kit  of 
new  yellow  drill  and  pith  helmets.  Unattached  officers  ar- 
rived singly  or  in  pairs;  in  carriages  or  on  foot.  Many  of 
them  were  doctors,  who  were  being  drafted  to  the  East  in 
large  numbers.  A  still  greater  proportion  consisted  of  young 
Second  Lieutenants,  who,  like  ourselves,  were  being  sent  out 
to  replace  the  terrible  losses  in  subalterns. 

"The  world  looks  East  this  summer,"  mused  Monty.  Then 
he  turned  to  me  in  a  sudden,  emphatic  way  that  he  had  when 
he  was  going  to  hold  forth.  "But  there's  a  thrill  about  it 
all,  my  lads.  It  means  great  developments  where  we're  going 
to.  Six  new  divisions  are  being  quietly  shipped  to  the  Medi- 
terranean. You  and  I  are  only  atoms  in  a  landslide  towards 
Gallipoli.  There's  some  secret  move  to  force  the  gates  of  the 
Dardanelles  in  a  month,  and  enter  Constantinople  before 
Christmas.     Big  things  afoot !     Big  things  afoot !" 

"Jove !    I  hope  so,"  said  I,  caught  by  his  keenness. 

"Just  look  round,"  pursued  Monty,  switching  off  in  his  own 
style  to  a  new  subject,  "isn't  our  Tommy  the  most  lovable 
creature  in  the  world?" 

I  followed  his  glance,  and  saw  that  the  decks  were  littered 
with  recumbent  Tommies,  who,  considering  themselves  to 
have  embarked,  had  cast  off  their  equipment  and  lain  down 
to  get  cool  and  rested. 

"Lx)ok  at  them!"  spouted  Monty,  and  by  his  suddenness 
I  knew  he  was  about  to  hold  forth  at  some  length.  "You'll 
learn  that  the  Army,  when  on  active  service,  does  an  astonish- 
ing amount  of  waiting;  and  Tommy  does  an  astonishing 
amount  of  reclining.  Lying  down,  while  you  wait  to  get 
started,  is  two-thirds  of  the  Army's  work.  Directly  the  Army 
begins  to  wait.  Tommy  relieves  his  aching  back  and  shoulders 
of  equipment,  and  reclines.     Quite  right,  too.     There's  no 


PART  I       Padre  Monty  and  Major  Hardy  207 

other  profession  in  the  world,  where,  with  perfect  dutifulness, 
you  can  spend  so  much  time  on  your  back.  Active  Service  is 
two-parts  Inaction " 

What  more  of  his  views  Monty  would  have  expounded  I 
can't  say,  for  a  voice  yelled  from  the  promenade-deck  above  us : 

"You  there!     What's  your  rank?" 

I  jumped  out  of  my  skin,  and  Doe  out  of  his,  for  we  thought 
the  voice  was  addressing  us.  Monty  turned  without  agitation 
and  looked  up  at  the  speaker.  It  was  Major  Hardy.  He 
was  leaning  against  the  deck-rail,  and  had  fixed  with  his 
monocle  the  nearest  recumbent  soldier.  This  soldier  was  just 
the  other  side  of  us,  so  the  Major  was  obliged  to  shout  over 
our  heads. 

"What's  your  rank?"  he  repeated.  "Come  along,  my  man. 
Get  a  move  on.     Jump  to  it.     What's  your  rank?" 

The  Tommy,  flurried  by  this  surprise  attack,  climbed  on  to 
his  feet,  came  to  attention,  and  said : 

"Inniskillings,  sir." 

"Damn  the  man — what''  cried  the  Major.  "What's  your 
rank?  I  said." 

"What,  sir?"  respectfully  inquired  the  Tommy,  whose  pow- 
ers of  apprehension  had  been  disorganised  by  so  sudden  a  raid. 

The  Major  adopted  two  methods  calculated  to  penetrate 
the  soldier's  intelligence:  he  leant  over  the  rail,  and  he  spoke 
very  slowly. 

"What's — your — bloody — rank?  Are  you  a  general,  or  a 
private?" 

"No,  sir,"  answered  the  bewildered  Tommy. 

'^Oh,  God  damn  you  to  hell !    What's  your  rank?" 

"Oh,  private,  sir." 

"Then,  for  Christ's  sake,  go  and  do  some  work.  What  are 
privates  for?    Get  that  kit  of  mine  from  the  quay." 

The  Major  dropped  his  monocle  on  his  chest,  and  looked 
down  at  us. 

"Sorry,  padre,"  he  said,  and  walked  away. 

I  watched  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  said  indig- 
nantly : 

"So  he  jolly  well  ought  to  have  apologised." 

"And  he  did''  retorted  Monty.  "Be  just  to  him.  It  took 
me  six  months " 


208  Tell  England  book  u 

"He's  off/'  thought  I. 

*' — to  get  the  Army's  bad  language  into  proportion.  At  first 
I  opened  on  it  with  my  heavies  in  sermon  after  sermon.  Then 
I  saw  proportion,  and  decided  on  a  tariff,  allowing  an  officer 
a  Mamn'  and  a  man  a  ^bloody.'  Winter  and  Neuve  Chapelle 
taught  me  the  rock-bottom  level  on  which  we  are  fighting  this 
war,  and  I  spiked  my  guns.  No  one  has  a  right  to  condemn 
them,  who  hasn't  floundered  in  mud  under  shell-fire." 

I  think  that,  after  this,  we  dropped  into  silence,  and  watched 
the  quay  emptying  itself  of  men,  and  the  Rangoon's  decks  be- 
coming more  and  more  crowded,  as  the  day  declined.  The 
Embarkation  was  practically  complete.  The  Devonport  Staff 
Officers  wished  us  "a  good  voyage,"  and  went  home  to  their 
teas  in  Plymouth.  And,  just  before  dinner,  the  gangway  was 
hauled  on  to  the  quay.  This  was  the  final  act,  for,  though 
the  ship  was  not  yet  moving,  we  had  broken  communication 
with  England. 

At  dinner,  it  being  the  first  night  afloat,  the  champagne  corks 
began  to  pop,  and  the  conversation  to  grow  noisier  and  noisier. 
By  the  time  the  nutcrackers  were  busy,  the  more  riotous  sub- 
alterns had  reached  that  state  of  merriness,  in  which  they  found 
every  distant  pop  of  a  cork  the  excuse  for  a  fresh  cheer  and 
cries  of  "Take  cover!" 

Major  Hardy,  too,  was  beaming.  He  had  sipped  the  best 
part  of  three  bottles  of  champagne,  and  was  feeling  himself, 
multiplied  by  three.  He  assured  Monty  that  the  padres  had 
been  the  most  magnificent  people  of  the  war.  He  told  three 
times  the  story  of  one  who  had  died  going  over  the  top  with  his 
men.  That  padre  was  a  man.  The  men  would  have  followed 
him  anywhere.  For  he  was  a  man  every  inch  of  him.  But,  of 
course,  the  victim  and  hero  of  the  war,  said  Major  Hardy, 
looking  at  Doe,  myself,  and  the  weary  Jimmy  Doon,  was  the 
junior  subaltern.  Everybody  was  prepared  to  take  off  his  hat 
to  the  junior  subaltern.  He  had  died  in  greater  numbers  than 
any  other  rank.  He  had  only  just  left  school,  and  yet  he  had 
led  his  men  from  in  front.  The  Major,  if  he  had  fifty  hats, 
would  take  them  all  off  to  the  junior  subaltern.    His  heart  beat 


PART  I       Padre  Monty  and  Major  Hardy  209 

at  one  with  the  heart  of  the  junior  subaltern.  And,  steward, 
confound  it,  where  was  the  drink-steward  ?  There  would  be  the 
most  awful  bloody  row,  if  he  weren't  looked  after  properly. 

Dinner  over,  the  riotous  juniors  rushed  upstairs  to  the 
Officers'  Lounge,  a  large  room  with  a  bar  at  one  end,  and  a 
piano  at  the  other.  Some  congregated  near  the  bar  to  order 
liqueurs,  while  others  surrounded  the  piano  to  roar  rag-time 
choruses  that  one  of  their  number  was  playing.  This  artist 
had  a  whole  manual  of  rag-time  tunes,  and  seemed  to  have 
begun  at  Number  One  and  decided  to  work  through  the  collec- 
tion. Each  air  was  caught  up  and  sung  with  more  enthusiasm 
than  the  last.  And  see,  there  was  Major  Hardy,  leaning  over 
the  pianist  that  he  might  read  the  words  through  his  monocle, 
and  smgmg  with  the  best  of  them:  "Everybody's  doing  it — 
doing  it — doing  it,''  and  "Hitchy-koo,  hitchy-koo,  hitchy-koo." 

The  Spirit  of  Riot  was  aboard  to-night.  The  wines  of 
Heidsieck  and  Veuve  Pommery  glowed  in  the  cheeks  of  the 
subalterns.  It  was  the  last  night  in  an  English  harbour,  and 
what  ho !  for  a  rag.  It  was  the  first  night  afloat,  and  what  ho ! 
for  a  rough-house.  And  there  was  Elation  in  the  air  at  the 
sight  of  Britain  embarking  for  the  Dardanelles  to  teach  the 
Turk  what  the  Empire  meant.  So  shout,  my  lads.  "Hitchy- 
koo,  hitchy-koo,  hitchy-koo." 

Major  Hardy  was  equal  to  any  of  them.  He  was  the  Master 
of  the  Revels.  He  had  a  big  space  cleared  at  one  end  of  the 
lounge,  and  organised  a  Rugby  scrum.  He  arranged  the  sides, 
interlocked  the  subalterns  in  the  three-two-three  formation, 
forced  their  heads  down  like  a  master  coaching  boys,  and,  when 
he  had  given  the  word  "Shove  like  hell,"  ran  round  to  the  back 
of  the  scrum,  got  into  it  with  his  head  well  down,  and  pushed 
to  such  purpose  that  the  whole  of  the  opposite  side  was  rushed 
off  its  feet,  and  the  scrum  sent  hurtling  across  the  lounge.  A 
few  chairs  were  broken,  as  the  scrimmagers  swept  like  an 
avalanche  over  the  room.  Major  Hardy  was  hot  with  success. 
"A  walk  over !  Absolutely  ran  them  off  their  feet !  Come  and 
shove  for  them,  you  slackers,"  he  shouted  to  those,  who  so  far 
had  only  looked  on  and  laughed.  A  score  of  fellows  rushed  to 
add  their  weight  to  the  defeated  side,  and  another  score  to  swell 
the  pack  of  the  victors.  "That's  the  style,"  cried  the  Major. 
"There  are  only  about  sixty  of  us  in  this  scrum.     Pack  well 


210  Tell  England  book  h 

down,  boys.  Not  more  than  twenty  in  the  front  row.  Ball's  in ! 
Shove  like  blazes !"  Into  it  he  got  himself,  and  shoved — shoved 
till  the  scrum  was  rolled  back  across  the  lounge;  shoved  till 
the  side,  which  was  being  run  off  its  feet,  broke  up  in  laughter, 
and  was  at  once  knocked  down  like  ninepins  by  the  rush  of  the 
winning  forwards;  shoved  till  his  own  crowd  fell  over  the 
prostrate  forms  of  their  victims,  and  collapsed  into  a  heap  of 
humanity  on  to  the  floor. 

Wiping  his  brow  and  whistling,  he  organised  musical  chairs ; 
and,  after  musical  chairs,  cock-fighting.  Already  he  was  limping 
on  one  knee,  and  his  left  eye  was  red  and  swollen.  But  he  was 
enjoying  himself  so  much  that  his  enjoyment  was  infectious. 
To  see  him  was  to  feel  that  Life  was  a  riotous  adventure,  and 
this  planet  of  ours  the  liveliest  of  lively  worlds.  And  really,  in 
spite  of  all,  Tm  not  sure  that  it  isn't. 

Doe  and  I  with  our  hands  in  our  pockets  had  contented  our- 
selves with  being  onlookers.  The  high  spirits  of  Major  Hardy's 
disorderly  mob  were  radiating  too  much  like  electric  waves 
through  the  room  for  us  not  to  be  caught  by  an  artificial  spell 
of  happiness.  But  neither  of  us  felt  rowdy  to-night.  Monty, 
too,  as  he  stood  between  us,  looked  on  and  moralised. 

*'It's  three  parts  Wine  and  seven  parts  Youth,"  he  ruled  (he 
was  always  giving  a  ruling  on  something),  "so  I'm  three  parts 
shocked  and  seven  parts  braced.  But  I  say.  Doe,  we're  a  race 
to  rejoice  in.  Look  at  these  officers.  Aren't  they  a  bonny 
crowd?  The  horrible,  pink  Huns,  with  their  round  heads, 
cropped  hair,  and  large  necks,  may  have  officers  better  versed 
in  the  drill-book.  But  no  army  in  the  world  is  officered  by  such 
a  lot  of  fresh  sportsmen  as  ours.    Come  on  deck." 

When  we  got  out  into  the  warm  air  of  a  July  evening,  we 
found  that  the  quay,  which  before  dinner  had  been  alongside 
the  ship,  was  floating  away  from  our  port-quarter.  Clearer 
thinking  showed  us  that  it  was  the  ship  which  was  veering 
round,  and  not  the  shore.  We  were  really  moving.  The 
Rangoon  was  off  for  the  Dardanelles.  There  was  no  crowd 
to  cheer  us  and  wave  white  handkerchiefs ;  nothing  but  a  silent, 
deserted  dockyard — because  of  that  policeman  at  the  gate.  It 
was  only  as  we  crept  past  a  great  cruiser,  whose  rails  were 
crowded  with  Jack  Tars,  that  cheers  and  banter  greeted  us. 

"The  Navy  gives  a  send-off  to  the  Army/'  said  Doe ;  and  the 


PART  I       Padre  Monty  and  Major  Hardy  211 

voice  of  one  of  our  Tommies  shouted  from  the  stern  of  the 
Rangoon: 

"Bye-bye,  Jack.  We'll  make  a  passage  for  you  through 
them  Dardanelles." 

**We  will,"  whispered  Monty. 

*We  will,"  echoed  L 

Soon  the  Rangoon  was  past  the  cruiser  and  abreast  of  the 
sinister  low  hulls  of  the  destroyers  that  were  going  to  escort  us 
out  to  sea.  But  here,  to  our  surprise,  the  noise  of  an  anchor's 
cable  rattling  and  racing  away  grated  on  our  ears. 

"She's  dropping  anchor  till  the  morning,"  said  Monty.  "All 
right,  then  we'll  sit  down." 

We  placed  hammock-chairs  on  a  lonely  part  of  the  boat- 
deck.  I  reclined  on  the  right  of  Monty,  and  Doe  took  his  chair 
and  placed  it  on  his  left.  Just  as,  in  the  old  world  behind  the 
dockyard  gates,  he  would  not  have  been  satisfied  unless  he  had 
been  next  to  Radley,  so  now  he  must  contrive  to  have  no  one 
between  himself  and  Monty.  Meantime  down  in  the  lounge 
they  seemed  to  have  abandoned  cock-fighting  for  music.  A 
man  was  singing  "Come  to  me,  Thora,"  and  his  voice  modified 
by  distance  could  be  heard  all  over  the  ship.  The  refrain  was 
taken  up  by  a  hundred  voices:  "Come — come — come  to  me, 
Thora" ;  and,  when  the  last  note  had  been  finished,  the  hundred 
performers  were  so  pleased  with  their  effort  that  they  burst 
into  cheers  and  whistling  and  catcalls.  It  sounded  like  a  distant 
jackal  chorus. 

Now  that  we  were  on  deck,  the  spell,  which  the  electric 
waves  of  enjoyment  had  played  on  me  in  the  lounge,  was  re- 
moved. Rather,  an  emptiness  and  a  loneliness  began  to  oppress 
me,  only  increased  by  the  rowdyism  below. 

"It's  going  to  degenerate  into  a  drunken  brawl,"  I  com- 
plained. 

Monty  turned  and  slapped  me  merrily  on  the  knee.  "Don't 
be  so  ready  to  think  the  worst  of  things,"  he  said. 

Something  in  the  gathering  darkness  and  the  gathering 
sadness  of  this  farewell  evening  made  me  communicative.  I 
wanted  to  speak  of  things  that  were  near  my  heart. 

"I  s'pose  just  nowadays  I  am  thinking  the  worst  of  people. 
I've  seen  so  much  evil  since  I've  been  in  the  army  that  my 
opinion  of  mankind  has  sunk  to  zero." 


212  Tell  England  book  h 

"So's  mine,"  murmured  Doe. 

''And  mine  has  gone  up  and  up  and  up  with  all  that  I've  seen 
in  the  army/'  said  Monty,  speaking  with  some  solemnity.  '1 
never  knew  till  I  joined  the  army  that  there  were  so  many  fine 
people  in  the  world.  I  never  knew  there  was  so  much  kindli- 
ness and  unselfishness  in  the  world.  I  never  knew  men  could 
suflfer  so  cheerfully.  I  never  knew  humanity  could  reach  such 
heights." 

We  remained  silent  and  thinking. 

"Good  heavens !"  continued  Monty.  "There's  beauty  in 
what's  going  on  in  the  lounge.  Can't  you  see  it?  These  boys, 
a  third  of  them,  have  only  a  month  or  more  in  which  to  sing. 
Some  of  them  will  never  see  England  again.  And  all  know  it, 
and  none  thinks  about  it.  Granted  that  a  few  of  them  are 
flushed  with  wine,  but,  before  God,  I've  learnt  to  forgive  the 
junior  subaltern  everything 

"Everything,"  he  added,  with  passionate  conviction. 

Doe  turned  in  his  seat  towards  Monty.  I  knew  what  my 
friend  was  feeling,  because  I  was  feeling  the  same.  These 
words  had  a  personal  application  and  were  striking  home. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'everything'?"  asked  Doe,  after 
looking  round  to  see  that  the  deck  was  deserted.  "Just  getting 
tight?" 

"I  said  'everything,' "  answered  Monty  deliberately.  "I 
learnt  to  do  it  out  in  France.  What's  the  position  of  the  junior 
subaltern  out  there?  Under  sentence  of  death,  and  lucky  if  he 
gets  a  reprieve.    The  tem.ptation  to  experience  everything  while 

they  can  must  be  pretty  subtle.     I  don't  say  it's  right " 

Monty  furrowed  his  forehead,  as  a  man  does  who  is  trying  to 
think  things  out — "To  say  I  would  forgive  it  is  to  admit  that 
it's  wrong,  but  ah!  the  boy-officer's  been  so  grand,  and  so 
boyishly  unconscious  of  his  grandeur  all  the  time.  I  remember 
one  flighty  youth,  who  sat  down  on  the  firing-step  the  night 
'before  he  had  to  go  over  the  top,  and  wrote  a  simple  letter  to 
everybody  he'd  cared  for.  He  wrote  to  his  father,  saying:  'If 
there's  anything  in  my  bank,  I'd  like  my  brother  to  have  it. 
But,  if  there's  a  deficit,  I'm  beastly  sorry.'  Think  of  him  put- 
ting his  tin-pot  house  in  order  like  that.  He  was — he  was 
blown  to  pieces  in  the  morning.  .  .  . 


PART  I       Padre  Monty  and  Major  Hardy  213 

"They  found  he  had  £60  to  his  credit.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
there  a  week,  if  the  young  spendthrift  had  known/' 

It  was  now  dark  enough  for  the  stars  and  the  lights  of  Eng- 
land and  the  glow  in  our  pipe-bowls  to  be  the  most  visible 
things. 

"Go  on/'  said  Doe.    "You're  thrilling  me." 

"I  remember  another  coming  to  me  just  before  the  assault, 
and  handing  me  a  sealed  letter  addressed  to  his  mother.  What 
he  said  was  a  lyric  poem,  but,  as  usual,  he  didn't  know  it.  He 
just  muttered :  'Padre,  you  might  look  after  this :  I  may  not 
get  an  opportunity  of  posting  it.'  So  English  that !  A  French- 
man would  have  put  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  exclaimed :  'I 
die  for  France  and  humanity.'  This  reserved  English  child 
said :  T  may  not  get  an  opportunity  of  posting  it.'  My  God, 
they're  wonderful  1" 

Monty  stared  across  the  stream  at  the  thousand  lights  of 
Devonport  and  Plymouth.  He  was  listening  to  the  voices  in 
the  lounge  singing:  "When  you  come  to  the  end  of  a  perfect 
day";  and  he  waited  to  hear  the  song  through,  before  he 
pursued : 

"There  was  one  youngster  who,  the  morning  of  an  attack, 
gave  me  a  long  envelope.    He  said :   Til  leave  this  with  you, 

padre.     It's  my — it's  my '     And  he  laughed.     Laughed, 

mind  you.  You  see,  he  was  shy  of  the  word  'will' ;  it  seemed  so 
silly.  .  .  ." 

Monty  stopped ;  and  finally  added : 

"Neither  did  that  boy  know  he  was  a  Poem." 

"Go  on,"  said  Doe,  "I  could  listen  all  night." 

"It's  a  lovely  night,  isn't  it?"  admitted  Monty.  "Inspires  one 
to  see  only  the  Beauty  there  is  in  everything.  Isn't  there  Beauty 
in  Major  Hardy's  black  eye?" 

"It's  a  Poem — what,"  laughed  Doe. 

"You  may  laugh,  but  that's  just  what  it  is.  He  said  that  his 
heart  beat  at  one  with  the  heart  of  a  junior  subaltern;  and  it 
does  that  because  it's  the  heart  of  a  boy.  And  the  heart  of  a 
boy  is  matter  for  a  poem." 

"By  Jove,"  said  Doe,  "you  seem  to  be  in  love  with  all  the 
world." 

"So  I  am,"  Monty  conceded,  pleased  with  Doe's  poetic 
phrase ;  "and  with  the  young  world  in  particular." 


214  Tell  England  book  h 


"I  think  I  could  be  that  too,"  began  Doe 

Doe  was  carrying  on  the  conversation  with  ease.  I  left  it  to 
him,  for  these  words  were  winning  eternity  in  my  memory :  ^1 
could  forgive  them  everything/'  With  a  sense  of  loneliness, 
and  that  I  had  lost  my  anchor  in  those  last  days  of  the  old 
world,  I  felt  that  one  day  I  would  unburden  myself  to  Monty. 
I  would  like  an  anchor  again,  I  thought.  The  same  idea  must 
have  been  possessing  Doe,  for  he  was  saying : 

"Somehow  I  could  forgive  everything  to  those  fellows  you've 
been  telling  us  about,  but  I'm  blowed  if  I  can  forgive  myself 
ever)^hing." 

And  here  Monty,  with  the  utmost  naturalness,  as  though  so 
deep  a  question  flowed  necessarily  from  what  had  gone  before, 
asked : 

"Have  you  everything  to  be  forgiven  ?" 

It  is  wonderful  the  questions  that  will  be  asked  and  the 
answers  that  will  be  given  under  the  stars. 

Doe  looked  out  over  the  water,  and  moved  his  right  foot  to 
and  fro.  Then  he  drew  his  knee  up  and  clasped  it  with  both 
hands. 

"Everything,"  he  said,  rather  softly. 

And,  when  I  heard  him  say  that,  I  felt  I  was  letting  him  take 
blame  that  I  ought  to  share  with  him.     So  I  added  simply : 

"It's  the  same  with  both  of  us." 

Monty  held  his  peace,  but  his  eyes  glistened  in  the  starlight. 
I  think  he  was  happy  that  we  two  boys  had  been  drawn  to  him, 
as  inevitably  as  needles  to  a  magnet.     At  last  he  said : 

"I  suppose  we  ought  to  turn  in  now.  But  promise  me  you'll 
continue  this  talk  to-morrow,  if  it's  another  lovely  night  like 
this." 

"Surely,"  assented  Doe,  as  we  arose  and  folded  up  the  chairs. 

"I  hope  when  we  wake  we  shan't  be  out  at  sea,"  suggested  I, 
"for  I  want  to  watch  old  England  receding  into  the  distance." 

Monty  looked  at  me  and  smiled. 

"Rupert,"  he  said,  and  it  was  like  him  to  use  my  Christian 
name  without  as  much  as  a  "by  your  leave"  within  the  first 
dozen  hours  of  our  acquaintance,  "you're  one  of  them." 

"One  of  whom?" 

"One  of  those  to  whom  I  could  forgive  everything.  You 
both  are.    Good  night,  Rupert.    Good  night,  Edgar." 


CHAPTER  III 


"C.    OF   E.,    NOW    AND   ALWAYS" 


§   I 

AWAKING  at  5.30  the  next  morning,  I  heard  a  noise  as  of 
the  anchor's  cable  being  hauled  in.  The  engines,  too, 
were  throbbing,  and  overhead  there  were  rattling  and  move- 
ment. I  tumbled  Doe  out  of  his  top  bunk,  telling  him  to  get  up 
and  see  the  last  of  England.  Slipping  a  British  warm  over  my 
blue  silk  pyjamas — mother  always  made  me  wear  pale  blue — I 
went  on  deck.  Doe  covered  his  pink-striped  pyjamas  with  a 
grey  silk  kimono  embroidered  with  flowers — the  chance  of 
wearing  which  garment  reconciled  him  to  this  cold  and  early 
rising — and  followed  me  sleepily.  In  a  minute  we  were  leaning 
over  the  deck-rails,  and  watching  the  sea,  as  it  raced  past  the 
ship's  hull. 

Our  Rangoon  was  really  off  now.  As  we  left  Devonport, 
two  devilish  little  destroyers  gave  us  fifty  in  the  hundred, 
caught  us  up,  and  passed  us,  before  we  were  in  the  open  sea. 
Then  they  waited  for  us  like  dogs  who  have  run  ahead  of  their 
master,  and  finally  took  up  positions  one  on  either  side  of  us. 
We  felt  it  was  now  a  poor  look  out  for  all  enemy  submarines. 

"Well,  ta-ta,  England,"  said  Doe,  looking  towards  a  long 
strip  of  Devon  and  Cornwall.  "See,  there,  Rupert?  Fal- 
mouth's there  somewhere.  In  a  year's  time  I'll  be  back,  with 
you  as  my  guest.  We'll  have  the  great  times  over  again.  We'll 
go  mackerel-fishing,  when  the  wind  is  fresh.  We'll  put  a  sail 
on  the  Lady  Fal,  and  blow  down  the  breeze  on  the  estuary. 
We'll " 

"And  when's  all  this  to  be  ?"  broke  in  a  languid  voice.  We 
turned  and  saw  our  exhausted  young  table  companion,  Jimmy 
Doon,  who  had  arrived  on  deck,  yawning,  to  assume  the  duties 
of  Officer  on  Submarine  Watch. 

215 


216  Tell  England  book  n 

"After  the  war,  sure/'  answered  Doe. 

Mr.  Doon  looked  pained  at  such  folly. 

"My  tedious  lad,"  he  said,  "do  I  gather  that  you  are  in  the 
cavalry  V 

"You  do  not,  Jimmy,"  said  Doe. 

"Nor  yet  in  the  artillery  ?" 

"No,  Jimmy." 

"Then  I  conceive  you  to  be  in  the  infantry." 

"You  conceive  aright,  Jimmy." 

"Well,  then,  don't  be  an  unseemly  ass.  There'll  be  no  'after 
the  war'  for  the  infantry." 

"In  that  case,"  laughed  Doe,  who  had  been  offensively 
classical,  ever  since  he  won  the  Horace  Prize,  ''Ave,  atque  vale, 
England." 

After  gazing  down  the  wake  of  the  Rangoon  a  little  longer, 
we  decided  that  England  was  finished  with,  and  returned  to  our 
cabins  to  dress  in  silence.  And  then,  having  read  through  twice 
the  directions  provided  with  Mothersill's  Sea-sick  Remedy,  we 
went  down  to  breakfast. 

At  this  meal  the  chief  entertainment  was  the  arrival  of  Major 
Hardy,  limping  from  injuries  sustained  the  previous  night,  and 
with  an  eye  the  colour  of  a  Victoria  plum.  "The  old  sport !" 
whispered  the  subalterns.  And  that's  just  what  he  was;  for  he 
was  a  major,  who  could  run  amok  like  any  second  lieutenant, 
and  he  was  forty,  if  a  day. 

In  the  afternoon,  when  the  sea  was  very  lonely,  the  destroyers 
left  us,  which  we  thought  amazingly  thin  of  them.  So  we 
searched  out  Jimmy  Doon,  and  told  him  that,  as  Officer  on 
Submarine  Watch,  he  ought  to  swim  alongside  in  their  place. 

Jimmy  was  much  aggrieved,  it  appeared,  at  being  detailed  for 
the  tiresome  duty  of  looking  for  submarines.  It  was  the  un- 
seemly limit,  he  said,  to  watch  all  day  for  a  periscope,  and  it 
would  be  the  very  devil  suddenly  to  see  one.  Besides,  he  had 
hoped  that  by  losing  his  draft  of  men  he  would  be  freed  from 
all  duties,  and  a  passenger  for  a  fortnight  He  would  have  just 
sat  down,  and  drawn  his  pay.  As  it  was,  he  assured  us,  he 
hadn't  the  faintest  idea  what  to  do  if  he  should  sight  a  sub- 
marine— whether  to  shoot  it,  or  tell  the  skipper.  He  was 
nervous  lest  in  his  excitement  he  should  shoot  the  skipper.  At 
any  rate,  he  had  a  firing-party  of  twenty  in  the  bows,  and  was 


PART  I         ''C.  of  E.,  Now  and  Always''  217 

determined  to  shoot  someone,  if  he  spotted  a  periscope.  And, 
moreover,  the  whole  thing  made  him  tediously  homesick,  and  he 
wanted  his  mother. 

He  was  mouching  off  quite  sad  and  sulky  about  it  all,  when 
the  ship's  clock  pointed  to  4  p.m.  (and  no  one  ever  argues  with 
a  ship's  clock),  eight  bells  rang  out,  and  all  the  junior  officers 
were  impressed  into  a  lecture  on  Turkey — even  including 
Jimmy  Doon,  who  thought  that  his  important  duties  ought  to 
have  secured  him  exemption  from  such  an  ordeal.  The  lecturer 
was  Major  Hardy,  who,  being  a  man  of  the  wanderlust,  had 
planted  in  Assam,  done  some  shady  gun-running  in  Mexico, 
fought  for  one,  or  both,  or  all  sides  in  the  late  Balkan  War, 
and  sauntered,  with  a  hammock  to  hang  under  the  trees,  in  all 
parts  of  Turkey,  Anatolia,  and  the  Ottoman  world.  He  limped 
to  the  lecturer's  table,  in  the  lounge,  and,  holding  his  monocle 
in  his  hand  from  the  first  word  to  the  last,  delivered  a  discourse 
of  which  this  was  the  gist : 

Before  Christmas  we  should  be  in  Constantinople — mhat. 
(Laughter,  rather  at  the  mkat  than  at  the  substance  of  the 
sentence.)  He  was  confident  the  Dardanelles  would  be  con- 
quered any  day  now,  and  wished  the  ship  would  go  a  bit  faster, 
so  that  we  sht)uld  not  be  too  late  to  miss  all  the  fun.  (Hear, 
hear.)  The  only  thing  that  was  holding  up  our  army  at  Cape 
Helles  was  the  hill  of  Achi  Baba.  Now  he  had  stood  on  Achi 
Baba  and  looked  down  upon  the  Straits  at  that  point  where 
they  became  the  silver  Narrows :  and  he  knew  that  old  Achi 
was  a  wee  pimple,  which  he  could  capture  before  breakfast, 
given  a  fighting  crowd  of  blaspheming  heathens,  like  those  he 
saw  before  him.  (Loud  cheers.)  When  we  penetrated  Tur- 
key, we  were  to  understand  that  the  Turk  with  a  beard  was  a 
teetotaller,  like  himself.  Major  Hardy.  (Cheers.)  We  were 
never  to  kick  a  dog  in  Turkey — what  (laughter),  and,  above 
all,  never  to  raise  our  eyes  to  a  Turkish  woman,  whether  veiled 
or  not,  if  we  would  keep  our  lives  worth  the  value  of  a  tram 
ticket.  "One  thinks,"  he  concluded,  "of  the  crowd  of  suscep- 
tible Tommies  reclining  on  the  decks  outside,  and  fears  the 
worst."  (Loud  laughter,  cheers,  and  Jimmy  Doon's  weary 
voice:  "Good-bye-ee.") 


218  Tell  England  book  n 


§2 

So  the  first  afternoon  at  sea  declined  into  evening.  I  had 
been  looking  forward  all  day  to  the  starlight  night,  in  which 
we  should  discuss  again  with  Monty  the  things  that  had  crept 
into  our  conversation  the  night  before.  I  had  gone  to  bed, 
happy  in  the  thought  that  the  breastworks  had  been  broken 
down,  and  the  way  made  easier  for  further  unburdening.  I 
had  fallen  asleep,  contented  in  the  conviction  that  Monty  had 
been  sent  into  my  life  to  help  me  to  put  things  straight.  In  my 
simple  theology,  I  was  pleased  to  imagine  I  saw  how  God  was 
working.  Somewhere  in  that  old  world  behind  the  dockyard 
lay  my  shattered  ideals,  shattered  morals,  shattered  religion. 
Monty  was  to  rebuild  my  faith  in  humanity  and  in  God.  Some 
where  in  that  rosy  year  which  was  past  lay  the  anchor  that  I 
had  cast  away.  Monty  was  to  find  me  drifting  to  the  Darda- 
nelles with  no  anchor  aboard,  and  to  give  me  one  that  would 
hold.  Yes,  I  saw  a  ruling  Hand.  Radley  had  been  the  great 
influence  of  my  schooldays;  and,  now  that  he  was  fast  fading 
into  the  memories  of  a  remote  past,  Monty,  this  lean  and 
whimsical  priest,  had  stepped  in  to  fill  the  stage.  The  story  of 
our  spiritual  development  must  ever  be  the  story  of  other 
people's  influence  over  us.  I  could  see  it  all,  and  went  to  sleep 
lonely  but  happy. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  why  I  wanted  to  set  my  life  aright.  The 
thought  of  my  mother;  the  peaceful  movement  of  the  ship 
away  from  England;  Monty's  stories  of  his  lovable  boy  offi- 
cers ;  and  the  beauty  of  the  seascape — all  had  something  to  do 
with  it.  At  any  rate,  I  found  myself  longing  for  the  time  when, 
after  dinner.  Doe  and  I,  with  Monty  between  us,  should  recline 
in  deck-chairs  under  the  stars,  and  speak  of  intimate  things. 

When  the  time  came,  it  was  very  dark,  for  deck-lamps  were 
not  allowed,  and  every  port-hole  was  obscured,  so  that  no 
chink  of  light  should  betray  our  whereabouts  to  a  prowling 
submarine.  We  began  by  star-gazing.  Then  we  brought  eyes 
and  faces  downwards,  and  watched  the  wide,  rippling  sea. 
Monty,  having  refilled  his  pipe  on  his  knees,  lit  it  with  some 
difficulty  in  the  gentle  wind,  before  he  remembered  that,  after 
dark,  smoking  was  forbidden  on  deck.    The  match  flared  up. 


PART  I         "'C  of  E.,  Now  and  Always""  219 

and  illuminated  the  world  alarmingly.  .  .  .  We  listened  for  the 
torpedo. 

Nothing  evil  coming  from  the  darkness,  Monty  knocked  out 
the  forbidden  tobacco,  and  placed  an  empty  pipe  between  his 
teeth. 

*'I  suppose  you  fellows  know,"  he  said,  "that  weVe  got  a 
daily  Mass  on  board/' 

"Whafs  that?"  asked  Doe. 

Monty  removed  his  pipe  and  gazed  with  affected  horror  at 
his  questioner.    Certainly  he  would  hold  forth  now. 

"Bah !"  he  began,  but  he  changed  it  with  quick  generosity  to 
"Ah  well,  ah  well,  ah  well !  I  know  the  sort  of  reHgion  you've 
enjoyed — and,  for  that  matter,  adorned.  It's  a  wonderful 
creed!  Have  a  bath  every  morning,  and  go  to  church  with 
your  people.  It  saves  you  from  bad  form,  but  can't  save  you 
from  vice." 

Doe  moved  slightly  in  his  chair,  as  one  does  when  a  dentist 
touches  a  nerve.     Monty  stopped,  and  then  added : 

"  *A  daily  Mass'  is  my  short  way  of  saying  'A  daily  celebra- 
tion of  the  Holy  Communion.'  " 

"Heavens!"  thought  I.    "He's  an  R.C 

I  felt  as  though  I  Ead  lost  a  friend.  Doe,  however,  was 
quicker  in  appraising  the  terrible  facts. 

"I  s'pose  you're  a  High  Churchman,"  he  said ;  and  I've  little 
doubt  that  he  thereupon  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  High  Church- 
man too.  Monty  groaned.  He  placed  in  front  of  Doe  his  left 
wrist  on  which  was  clasped  a  bracelet  identity  disc.  He 
switched  on  to  the  disc  a  shaft  of  light  from  an  electric  torch, 
and  we  saw  engraved  on  it  his  name  and  the  letters  "C.E." 

"That's  what  I  am.  Gazelle,"  said  he,  as  the  light  went  out, 
"C.  of  E.,  now  and  always." 

("Gazelle"  was  ostensibly  a  silly  play  on  my  friend's  name, 
but,  doubtless.  Doe's  sleek  figure  and  brown  eyes,  which  had 
made  the  name  of  "The  Grey  Doe"  so  appropriate,  inspired 
Monty  to  style  him  "Gazelle.") 

"C.  of  E.,"  muttered  I,  audibly.    "What  a  relief  1" 

"You  beastly,  little,  supercilious  snob!"  exclaimed  Monty, 
who  was  easily  the  rudest  man  I  have  ever  met. 

I  didn't  mind  him  calling  me  "little,"  for  he  so  overtopped 


220  Tell  England  book  n 

me  intellectually  that  in  his  presence  I  never  realised  that  I  had 
grown  tall.     I  felt  about  fourteen. 

*'You  beastly,  little,  intolerant,  mediaeval  humbug.  I  suppose 
you  think  *C.  of  E.'  is  the  only  respectable  thing  to  be.    And 

yet  your  C.  of  E.-ism  hasn't ''    He  stopped  abruptly,  as  if 

he  had  just  arrested  himself  in  a  tactless  remark. 

'*Go  on,"  I  said. 

"And  yet  your  religion,"  he  continued  gently,  "hasn't  proved 
much  of  a  vital  force  in  your  life,  has  it  ?  Didn't  it  go  to  pieces 
at  the  first  assault  of  the  world  ?" 

"I  s'pose  it  did,"  I  confessed  humbly. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  the  outstanding  religious  fact  of  the  war?" 
asked  he.  "Let  me  recover  my  breath  which  your  unspeakable 
friend  here  put  out  by  calling  me  a  'High  Churchman,'  and 
then  I'll  begin.     It  begins  eighty  years  ago." 

So  Monty  began  the  great  story  of  the  CathoHc  movement 
in  the  Church  of  England.  He  told  us  of  Keble  and  Pusey ;  he 
made  heroes  for  us  of  Father  Mackonochie  dying  amongst  his 
dogs  in  the  Scotch  snows,  and  of  Father  Stanton,  whose  coffin 
was  drawn  through  London  on  a  barrow.  He  knew  how  to 
capture  the  interest  and  sympathy  of  boy  minds.  At  the  end 
of  his  stories  about  the  heroes  and  martyrs  of  the  Catholic 
movement,  though  we  hadn't  grasped  the  theology  of  it,  yet 
we  knew  we  were  on  the  side  of  Keble  and  Pusey,  Mackonochie 
and  Stanton.  We  would  have  liked  to  be  sent  to  prison  for 
wearing  vestments. 

"But  hang  the  vestments !"  cried  Monty  in  his  vigorous  way. 
"Hang  the  cottas,  the  candles,  and  the  incense!  What  the 
Catholic  movement  really  meant  was  the  recovery  for  our 
Church  of  England — God  bless  her — of  the  old  exalted  ideas 
of  the  Mass  and  of  the  great  practice  of  private  confession. 
'What  we  want,'  said  the  Catholic  movement,  'is  the  faith  of 
St.  Augustine  of  Canterbury,  and  of  St.  Aidan  of  the  North ; 
the  faith  of  the  saints  who  built  the  Church  of  England,  and 
not  the  faith  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  nor  even  of  the  Pope  of 
Rome.' " 

We  thought  this  very  fine,  and  Doe,  who  generally  carried  on 
these  conversations  while  I  was  silent,  inquired  what  exactly 
this  faith  might  be,  which  was  neither  Protestantism  nor 
Romanism. 


PART  I         ''C.  of  E.,  Now  and  Always'^  221 

'•'Rehearse  the  articles  of  my  behef,  eh?"  laughed  Monty. 
"Well,  I  believe  in  the  Mass,  and  I  beHeve  in  confession,  and  I 
believe  that  where  youVe  those,  youVe  everything  else." 

"And  what's  the  outstanding  fact  of  the  war?"  asked  Doe. 

"The  outstanding  fact  of  my  experience  at  least,  Gazelle, 
has  been  the  astonishing  loyalty  to  his  chaplains  and  his  church 
of  that  awful  phenomenon,  the  young  High  Church  fop,  the 
ecclesiastical  youth.  He  has  known  what  his  chaplains  are  for, 
and  what  they  can  give  him ;  he  hasn't  needed  to  be  looked  up 
and  persuaded  to  do  his  religious  duties,  but  has  rather  looked 
up  his  chaplains  and  persuaded  them  to  do  theirs — confound 
his  impudence !  He  has  got  up  early  and  walked  a  mile  for  his 
Mass.    His  faith,  for  all  its  foppery,  has  stood  four-square." 

Monty  started  to  relight  his  pipe,  forgetting  again  in  his 
enthusiasm  all  routine  orders.  He  tossed  the  match  away,  and 
added : 

"Yes:  and  there's  another  whose  religion  is  vital — the  ex- 
treme Protestant.  He's  a  gem !  I  disagree  with  him  on  every 
point,  and  I  love  him." 

Monty  held  the  floor.  We  were  content  to  wait  in  silence  for 
him  to  continue.  He  looked  at  a  bright  star  and  murmured,  as 
if  thinking  aloud: 

"Out  there — out  there  the  spike  has  come  into  his  own." 

"What's  a  spike?"  interrupted  Doe,  intent  on  learning  his 
part. 

"They  called  those  High  Church  boys  who  before  the  war 
could  talk  of  nothing  but  cottas  and  candles,  'spikes.'  They 
were  a  bit  insufferable.  But,  by  Jove,  they've  had  to  do  without 
all  those  pretty  ornaments  out  there,  and  they've  proved  that 
they  had  the  real  thing.  My  altar  has  generally  been  two 
ration  boxes,  marked  'Unsweetened  Milk,'  but  the  spike  has 
surrounded  it.  And,  look  here.  Gazelle,  the  spike  knows  how 
to  die.  He  just  asks  for  his  absolution  and  his  last  sacrament, 
and — and  dies." 

There  was  silence  again.  All  we  heard  was  the  ship  chop- 
ping along  through  the  dark  sea,  and  distant  voices  in  the 
saloons  below.  And  we  thought  of  the  passing  of  the  spike, 
shriven,  and  with  food  for  his  journey. 

"And  what  are  we  to  believe  about  the  Mass?"  asked  Doe, 
who,  deeply  interested,  had  turned  in  his  chair  towards  Monty. 


222  Tell  England  book  n 

Monty  told  us.  He  told  us  things  strange  for  us  to  hear. 
We  were  to  believe  that  the  bread  and  wine,  after  consecration, 
were  the  same  Holy  Thing  as  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem ;  and  we 
could  come  to  Mass,  not  to  partake,  but  to  worship  like  the 
shepherds  and  the  magi ;  and  there,  and  there  only,  should  we 
learn  how  to  worship.  He  told  us  that  the  Mass  was  the  most 
dramatic  service  in  the  world,  for  it  was  the  acting  before  God 
of  Calvary's  ancient  sacrifice;  and  under  the  shadow  of  that 
sacrifice  we  could  pray  out  all  our  longings  and  all  our 
loneliness. 

"Now,  come  along  to  daily  Mass,"  he  pleaded.  "Just  come 
and  see  how  they  work  out,  these  ideas  of  worshipping  like 
the  shepherds  and  of  kneeling  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  sacrifice. 
You'll  find  the  early  half-hour  before  the  altar  the  happiest 
half-hour  of  the  day.  You'll  find  your  spiritual  recovery  there. 
It'll  be  your  healing  spring." 

Turning  with  the  Monty  suddenness  to  Doe,  he  proved  by  his 
next  words  how  quickly  he  had  read  my  friend's  character. 

"You  boys  are  born  hero-worshippers,"  he  said.  "And 
there's  nothing  that  warm  young  blood  likes  better  than  to  do 
homage  to  its  hero,  and  mould  itself  on  its  hero's  lines.  In  the 
Mass  you  simply  bow  the  knee  to  your  Hero,  and  say :  *I  swear 
fealty.    I'm  going  to  mould  myself  on  you.'  " 

He  had  not  known  Edgar  Doe  forty-eight  hours,  but  he  had 
his  measure. 

"All  right,"  said  Doe,  "I'll  come." 

"Tell  us  about  the  other  thing,  confession,"  I  suggested. 

"Not  now,  Rupert.  *Ye  are  babes,'  and  I've  fed  you  with 
milk.    Confession'll  come,  but  it's  strong  meat  for  you  yet." 

"I  don't  know,"  demurred  I. 

Monty's  face  brightened,  as  the  fact  of  one  who  sees  the 
dawn  of  victory.  But  Doe,  though  his  whole  nature  moved 
him  to  be  a  picturesque  High  Churchman,  yet,  because  he 
wanted  Monty  to  think  well  of  him,  drew  up  abruptly  at  the 
prospect  of  a  detailed  confession. 

"You'll  never  get  me  to  come  to  confession,"  he  laughed, 
"never — never — ^never." 

"My  dear  Gazelle,  don't  be  silly,"  rejoined  Monty.  "Fll  have 
you  within  the  week." 

"You  won't!" 


PART  I  'C.  of  E.,  Now  and  Always""  223 

"I  will !  Oh,  I  admit  Fm  out  to  win  you  two.  I  want  to 
prove  that  the  old  Church  of  England  has  everything  you  public 
schoolboys  need,  and  capture  you  and  hold  you.  I  want  all  the 
young  blood  for  her.  I  want  to  prove  that  you  can  be  the  pride 
of  the  Church  of  England.  And  I'll  prove  it.  I'll  prove  it  on 
this  ship.'' 

Whether  he  proved  it,  I  can't  say.  I  am  only  telling  a  tale 
of  what  happened.  I  dare  say  that,  if  instead  of  Monty,  the 
Catholic,  some  militant  Protestant  had  stepped  at  this  critical 
moment  into  our  Hves,  full  of  enthusiasm  for  his  cause  and  of 
tales  of  the  Protestant  martyrs,  he  would  have  won  us  to  his 
side,  and  provided  a  different  means  of  spiritual  recovery.  I 
don't  know. 

For  the  tale  I'm  telling  is  simply  this :  that  in  these  moments, 
when  every  turn  of  the  ship's  screw  brought  us  nearer  Gibral- 
tar, the  gate  of  the  Great  Sea,  and  God  alone  knew  what 
awaited  us  in  the  Gallipoli  corner  of  that  Mediterranean  arena, 
came  Padre  Monty,  crashing  up  to  us  with  his  Gospel  of  the 
saints.  It  was  the  ideal  moment  for  a  priest  to  do  his  priestly 
work,  and  bring  our  Mother  Church  to  our  side.  And  Monty 
failed  neither  her  nor  us. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  VIGIL 
§1 

NIGHT  or  day,  the  ship  ploughed  remorselessly  on.  It  was 
steered  a  bewildering  zigzag  course  to  outwit  the  sub- 
marines. The  second  day  of  the  voyage  saw  us  in  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  a  hundred  miles  off  Cape  Finisterre.  The  sun  got 
steadily  hotter,  and  the  sea  bluer. 

And  the  subalterns  blessed  the  sun,  because  it  gave  them  an 
excuse  for  putting  on  the  white  tennis-flannels  which  they  had 
brought  for  deck  wear.  All  honest  boys,  we  know,  fancy 
themselves  in  their  whites.  And  the  mention  of  their  deck- 
flannels  reminds  me,  strangely  enonugh,  of  Monty's  daily 
masses.  It  was  evident  from  the  attendance  at  these  quiet  little 
services  that  he  had  been  busy  persuading  other  young  officers 
to  see  *'how  it  worked." 

Every  morning  the  smoking  room  was  equipped  with  a  little 
altar  that  supported  two  lighted  candles.  And  to  this  chapel 
there  wandered,  morning  after  morning,  stray  and  rather  shy 
young  subalterns,  who  knelt  ^'beneath  the  shadow,"  occupied 
with  their  own  thoughts,  while  Calvary's  ancient  sacrifice  was 
acted  before  God. 

Monty  had  formed  a  dozen  subalterns  into  a  guild  of  servers. 
And  on  these  sun-baked  mornings  he  would  insist  that  his 
servers  should  kneel  at  their  place  beside  the  altar  in  their  white 
sporting  attire.  ''His  Mass,''  said  he,  *Vas  meant  to  be  mixed 
tip  with  the  week-day  play." 

It  was  all  quiet — in  fact,  ever  so  quiet.  Outside  on  the  deck 
there  would  be  noises,  and  in  the  alley-way  there  would  be 
bangings  of  cabin-doors,  and  voices  calling  for  the  bath 
steward.  But  these  things  only  intensified  the  quiet  of  the 
smoking  room.     Monty  would  keep  his  voice  very  low,  loud 

224 


PART  I  The  Vigil  225 

enough  to  be  heard  by  those  who  wished  to  follow  him,  and 
soft  enough  not  to  interrupt  those  who  preferred  to  pursue 
their  private  devotions. 

Whether  he  was  right  in  all  that  he  did  and  taught,  or  was 
only  a  joyous  rebel,  better  theologians  than  I  must  determine. 
He  was  at  least  right  in  this:  the  attraction  of  that  early 
morning  service  was  irresistible.  I  began  to  look  forward  to 
it.  I  enjoyed  it.  When  my  comfortable  bunk  pulled  strongly, 
and  I  was  too  lazy  to  get  up,  I  would  feel  all  day  a  sense  of 
having  missed  something.  I  had  never  been  able  to  pray  any- 
where else  so  easily  as  I  prayed  there.  I  had  never  before 
understood  the  satisfaction  of  worship. 

Monty  soon  found  that  the  only  enemy  who  could  beat  him 
and  prevent  a  swelling  attendance  of  Youth  at  the  Mass,  was 
Cosy  Bed.  C.B.,  as  he  contemptuously  called  him,  was  most 
powerful  at  7.0  in  the  morning.  Padre  Monty  would  not  have 
been  Padre  Monty,  had  he  failed  to  declare  war  on  the  foe  at 
once.  He  drew  up  a  ''Waking  Lisf  of  his  family  (for  he  had 
adopted  everybody  on  the  ship  under  25),  and  each  morning 
went  his  rounds,  visiting  a  score  of  cabins,  where  the  "chil- 
dren" slept.  He  burst  upon  them  unceremoniously,  and  threw 
open  the  darkened  port-holes  to  let  the  sunlight  in.  For  the 
sunlight,  like  all  bright  things,  was  on  the  side  of  the  Mass. 

Of  course  it  was  only  a  minority,  at  best,  who  thus  bowed 
their  young  heads  to  the  Mass.  The  rest  remained  gentiles 
without  the  Law.  And  Monty's  undismayed  comment  was 
characteristic  of  him.  '*I  say,  Rupert,"  he  said,  coolly  assuming 
that  I  was  his  partner  in  the  work,  "WeVe  only  a  few  at 
present,  our  apostolic  few.  But  don't  you  love  these  big,  hand- 
some boys,  who  will  not  come  to  church  ?" 

One  immortal  Friday  fully  forty  wandered  in  to  Mass. 
Monty  was  radiant.  Immediately  after  the  service  he  said  to 
me:  "Come  on  deck,  and  have  a  game  of  quoits-tennis  before 
breakfast.  Mass  first,  then  tennis — that's  as  it  should  be." 
We  went  on  deck,  and,  having  fixed  the  rope  that  acted  as  a 
net,  played. a  hard  game.  And,  when  the  first  game  was 
finished,  Monty,  still  flushed  with  his  victory  down  in  the 
smoking  room,  came  and  looked  at  me  over  the  high  inter- 
vening rope,  much  as  a  horse  looks  over  a  wall,  and  proceeded 
to  hold  forth : 


226  Tell  England  book  ii 

"D'you  remember  that  picture,  The  Vigil/  Rupert,  where  a 
knight  is  kneeling  with  his  sword  before  the  altar,  being  conse- 
crated for  the  work  he  has  in  hand  ?  Well,  this  voyage  is  the 
vigil  for  these  fellows.  Before  they  step  ashore,  they  shall 
kneel  in  front  of  the  same  altar,  and  seek  a  blessing  on  their 
swords.  Hang  it!  aren't  they  young  knights  setting  out  on 
perilous  work  ?  And  I'll  prove  we  have  a  Church  still,  and  an 
Altar,  and  a  Vigil." 

Then  he  asked  me  what  I  was  stopping  for  and  talking  about, 
and  why  I  didn't  get  on  with  the  game.  His  spirits  were 
irrepressible. 

After  tea,  on  the  fourth  day,  everyone  hurried  to  the  boat- 
deck,  for  land  was  on  our  port  side.  There  to  our  left,  looking 
like  a  long,  riftless  cloud  bank,  lay  a  pale-washed  impression  of 
the  coast  of  Spain.  A  little  town,  of  which  every  building 
seemed  a  dead  white,  could  be  distinguished  on  the  slope  of  a 
lofty  hill.  There  was  a  long  undulation  of  mountainous  coun- 
try, and  a  promontory  that  we  were  told  was  Cape  Trafalgar. 

I  should  have  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  this,  my  first  view  of 
Sunny  Spain,  if  there  had  not  been  excited  talk  of  another 
land  looming  on  the  starboard  side.  Looking  quickly  that  way, 
I  made  out  the  grey  wraith  of  a  continent,  and  realised  that, 
for  the  first  time,  Dark  Africa  had  crept,  with  becomingly 
mysterious  silence,  into  my  range  of  vision. 

Doe  let  his  field-glasses  drop,  and  stared  dreamily  at  the 
beautiful  picture,  which  was  being  given  us,  as  we  approached 
in  the  fall  of  a  summer  day  towards  the  famous  Straits  of 
Gibraltar.  Not  long,  however,  could  his  reverie  last,  for  Jimmy 
Doon  poked  him  in  the  ribs  and  said : 

"Wake  up.  Do  you  grasp  the  fact  that  you  are  just  about  to 
go  through  the  gate  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  you'll  be 
damned  lucky  if  you  ever  come  out  through  it  again?  It's  like 
going  through  the  entrance  of  the  Colosseum  to  the  lions.  It's 
both  tedious  and  unseemly." 

"Oh,  get  a^ay,  Jimmy,"  retorted  Doe,  "you  spoil  the  view. 
Look,  Rupert — don't  look  out  of  the  bows  all  the  time;  turn 
round  and  look  astern,  if  you  want  to  see  a  glorious  sunset." 


PART  I  The  Vigil  227 

I  turned.  We  were  steering  due  east,  so  the  disc  of  the  sun, 
this  still  evening,  was  going  down  behind  our  stern.  The  sea 
maintained  a  hue  of  sparkling  indigo,  while  the  sun  encircled 
itself  with  widening  haloes  of  gold  and  orange.  The  vision 
was  so  gorgeous  that  I  turned  again  to  see  its  happy  effect 
upon  the  coast  of  Spain,  and  found  that  the  long  strip  of  land 
had  become  apple  pink.  Meanwhile  I  was  aware  that  my 
hands  and  all  my  exposed  flesh  had  a  covering  of  sticky 
moisture,  the  outcome  of  a  damp  wind  blowing  from  grey  and 
melancholy  Africa. 

'The  sirocco,''  said  someone,  and  foretold  a  heavy  mist  with 
the  night. 

It  happened  so.  The  darkness  had  scarcely  succeeded  the 
highly  coloured  sunset  before  the  raucous  booming  of  the  fog- 
horn sounded  from  the  ship's  funnel,  and  the  whole  vessel  was 
surrounded  with  a  thick  mist — African  breath  again — which, 
laden  with  damp,  left  everything  superficially  wet.  The  mist 
continued,  and  the  darkness  deepened,  as  we  went  through  the 
Straits.  The  siren  boomed  intermittently,  and  Gibraltar,  in- 
visible, flashed  Morse  messages  in  long  and  short  shafts  of 
light  on  the  thick,  moist  atmosphere.  To  add  to  the  eerie  effect 
of  it  all,  a  ship's  light  was  hung  upon  the  mast,  and  cast  yellow 
rays  over  the  fog-damp. 

^'Beastly  shame,"  grumbled  Doe,  looking  into  the  opaque 
darkness,  *'we  shan't  see  the  Rock  this  trip  through.  Never 
mind,  we'll  see  it  on  the  homeward  route." 

'T^r-haps,"  corrected  Jimmy  Doon. 

Thus  we  went  through  the  gate  into  the  Mediterranean 
theatre,  where  the  big  battle  for  those  other  Straits  was  being 
fought.  We  left  the  fog  behind  us,  as  we  got  into  wider  seas, 
and  steamed  into  a  hot  Mediterranean  night. 


§3 

Oh,  it  was  torrid.  Ere  we  came  on  deck  for  our  talk  with 
Monty  under  the  stars,  we  had  changed  into  our  coolest  things. 
And  now,  awaiting  his  arrival,  I  lolled  in  my  deck-chair, 
clothed  in  my  Cambridge  blue  sleeping-suit,  and  Doe  lay  with 


228  Tell  England  book  h 

his  pink  stripes  peeping  from  beneath  the  grey  embroidered 
kimono. 

It  had  become  a  regular  practice,  our  nightly  talk  with  Monty 
on  what  he  called  "Big  Things/'  Certainly  he  did  most  of  the 
talking.  But  his  ideas  were  so  new  and  illuminating,  and  he 
opened  up  such  undreamed-of  vistas  of  thought,  that  we  were 
pleased  to  lie  lazily  and  listen. 

"What's  it  to  be  to-night?"  he  began,  as  he  walked  up  to  us ; 
but  he  suddenly  saw  our  pyjama  outfit,  and  was  very  rude 
about  it,  calling  us  "popinjays,"  and  "degenerate  aesthetes." 
"My  poor  boys,"  he  summed  up,  as  he  dropped  into  the  chair, 
which  we  had  thoughtfully  placed  between  us  for  his  judgment 
throne,  "you  can't  help  it,  but  you're  a  public  nuisance  and  an 
offence  against  society.    What's  it  to  be  to-night  ?" 

"Tell  us  about  confession,"  I  said,  and  curled  myself  up  to 
listen. 

"Right,"  agreed  Monty. 

"But  wait,"  warned  Doe.  "You're  not  going  to  get  me  to 
come  to  confession.    I  value  your  good  opinion  too  highly." 

"My  dear  Gazelle,  don't  be  absurd.  I'll  have  your  promise 
to-night." 

"You  won't!" 

"I  will!    Here  goes." 

And  Monty  opened  with  a  preliminary  bombardment  in 
which,  in  his  shattering  style,  he  fired  at  us  every  argument 
that  ever  has  been  adduced  for  private  confession — "the  Sacra- 
ment of  Penance,"  as  he  startled  us  by  calling  it.  The  Bible 
was  poured  out  upon  us.  The  doctrine  and  practice  of  the 
Church  came  hurtling  after.  Then  suddenly  he  threw  away 
theological  weapons,  and  launched  a  specialised  attack  on  each 
of  us  in  turn,  obviously  suiting  his  words  to  his  reading  of  our 
separate  characters.    He  turned  on  me,  and  said : 

"You  see,  Rupert.  Confession  is  simply  the  consecration  of 
your  own  natural  instinct — the  instinct  to  unburden  yourself  to 
one  who  waits  with  love  and  a  gift  of  forgiveness — the  instinct 
to  have  someone  in  the  world  who  knows  exactly  all  that  you 
are.  You  realise  that  you  are  utterly  lonely,  as  long  as  you  are 
acting  a  part  before  all  the  world.  But  your  loneliness  goes 
when  you  know  of  at  least  one  to  whom  you  stand  revealed." 

As  he  said  it,  my  whole  soul  seemed  to  answer  "Yes." 


PART  I  The  Vigil  229 

"It's  so,"  he  continued.  "Christianity  from  beginning  to  end 
is  the  consecration  of  human  instincts.'* 

So  warmed  up  was  he  to  his  subject  that  he  brought  out  his 
next  arguments  like  an  exultant  player  leading  honour  after 
honour  from  a  hand  of  trumps.  He  slapped  me  triumphantly 
on  the  knee,  and  brought  out  his  ace : 

"The  Christ-idea  is  the  consecration  of  the  instinct  to  have  a 
visible,  tangible  hero  for  a  god." 

Again  he  slapped  me  on  the  knee,  and  said : 

"The  Mass  is  the  consecration  of  the  instinct  to  have  a  place 
and  a  time  and  an  Objective  Presence,  where  one  can  touch  the 
hem  of  His  garment  and  worship." 

That  was  his  king.  He  emphasised  his  final  argument  on  my 
knee  more  triumphantly  than  ever. 

"And  confession  is  the  consecration  of  the  instinct  to  un- 
burden your  soul;  to  know  that  you  are  not  alone  in  your 
knowledge  of  yourself;  to  know  that  at  a  given  moment,  by  a 
definite  sacrament,  your  sins  are  blotted  away,  as  though  they 
had  never  been." 

His  victorious  contention,  by  its  very  impulse,  carried  its 
colours  into  my  heart.  I  yielded  to  his  conviction  that  Catholic 
Christianity  held  all  the  honours.  But  I  fancy  I  had  wanted  to 
capitulate,  before  ever  the  attack  began. 

"By  Jove,"  I  said.    "I  never  saw  things  like  that  before." 

"Of  course  you  didn't,"  he  snapped. 

Having  broken  through  my  front,  he  was  re-marshalling  his 
arguments  into  a  new  formation,  ready  to  bear  down  upon 
Doe,  when  that  spirited  youth,  who  alone  did  any  counter- 
attacking, assumed  the  initiative,  and  assaulted  Monty  with  the 
words : 

"It's  no  good.  If  I  made  my  confession  to  a  priest  who'd 
been  my  friend,  I'd  never  want  to  see  him  again  for  shame. 
I'd  run  round  the  corner,  if  he  appeared  in  the  street." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Monty,  "you'd  run  to  meet  him. 
You'd  know  that  you  were  dearer  to  him  than  you  could 
possibly  have  been,  if  you  had  never  gone  to  him  in  confession. 
You'd  know  that  your  relations  after  the  sacred  moment  of 
confession  were  more  intimate  than  ever  before." 

I  saw  Doe's  defence  crumbling  beneath  this  attack.  I  knew 
he  would  instantly  want  these  intimate  relations  to  exist  be- 


230  Tell  England  book  n 

tween  Monty  and  himself.  Monty,  subtly  enough,  had  borne 
down  on  that  part  of  Doe's  make-up  which  was  most  certain  to 
give  way — his  yielding  aifectionateness. 

And,  while  Doe  remained  silent  and  thoughtful,  Monty 
attacked  with  a  new  weight  of  argument  at  a  fresh  point — 
Doe's  love  of  the  heroic. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  asked,  ''that,  if  you've  gone  the  whole 
way  with  your  sins,  it's  up  to  a  sportsman  to  go  the  whole  way 
with  his  confession.  And  anybody  knows  that  it's  much  more 
difficult  to  confess  to  God  through  a  priest  than  in  the  privacy 
of  one's  own  room.  It's  difficult,  but  it's  the  grand  thing ;  and 
so  it  appeals  to  an  heroic  nature  more." 

"Yes,  I  see  that,"  assented  Doe. 

Monty  said  nothing  further  for  awhile,  as  if  hoping  we 
would  declare  our  decision  without  any  prompting  from  him. 
But  we  were  shy  and  silent ;  and  at  last  he  asked : 

"Well,  what's  the  decision?" 

"I'll  come  to  you,"  I  said,  "if  you'll  show  me  how  to  do 
it  all." 

He  replied  nothing.  I  believe  he  was  too  happy  to  speak. 
Then  he  turned  to  Doe. 

"Gazelle,  what  about  you  ?" 

And  Doe  said  one  of  those  engaging  things  that  only  he 
could  utter: 

"I  imagine  I  ought  to  do  it  for  love  of  Our  Lord.  But 
s'posing  I  know  that  isn't  the  real  motive — s'posing  I  feel  that 
someone  has  been  sent  into  my  life  to  put  it  right,  and  I  do  it 
rather  for — for  him?" 

There  Monty  was  beaten.  Doe's  meaning  was  too  plain; 
and  the  rich  prize  it  threw  at  Monty's  feet  too  overwhelming. 
The  only  answer  he  could  give  was :  "You  must  try  and  link  it 
to  love  for  the  Higher  One." 

"All  right,"  said  Doe,  simply.    "I'll  try." 

A  silence  of  unusual  length  followed.  The  noise  of  the  ship 
going  through  the  water,  and  the  beat  of  the  engines,  assumed 
the  monopoly  of  sound.  Doe  and  I  were  thinking  of  the 
thorny  and  troublesome  path  of  confession,  which  in  a  few 
days  we  must  traverse.  And  Monty  indicated  what  his  thoughts 
were  by  the  remark  with  which  he  prepared  to  close  that  night's 
conversation  under  the  stars. 


PART  I  The  Vigil  231 

"The  two  cardinal  dogmas  of  my  faith  are- 


*The  Mass  and  confession,"  I  volunteered,  in  a  flash  of 
impudence. 

"Don't  interrupt,  you  rude  little  cub.  They  are  these.  Just 
as  there  is  more  beauty  in  nature  than  ugliness,  so  there  is  more 
goodness  in  humanity  than  evil,  and  more  happiness  in  the 
world  than  sorrow.  .  .  . 

"Now  and  then  one  is  allowed  a  joy  that  would  outweigh 
years  of  disappointment.  You  two  pups  have  given  me  one  of 
those  joys  to-night.  It's  my  task  to  make  this  voyage  your 
Vigil;  and  a  perfect  Vigil.  It's  all  inexpressibly  dear  to  me. 
I'm  going  to  send  you  down  the  gangway  when  you  go  ashore 
to  this  crusade — properly  absolved  by  your  Church.  I'm  going 
to  send  you  into  the  fight — white," 


CHAPTER  V 

PENANCE 
§    I 

UPON  the  rail  leaned  Doe  and  I  watching  the  waves  break 
away  from  the  ship.  It  was  morning,  and  we  were 
troubled — troubled  over  the  awful  difficulty  of  making  our  life 
confession  on  the  morrow.  Monty  had  given  much  pains  to 
preparing  us.  He  had  sat  with  each  under  the  awning  on 
sunny  days,  and  told  him  how  to  do  it.  We  were  to  divide  our 
lives  into  periods:  our  childhood,  our  schooldays,  and  our  life 
in  the  army.  We  were  to  search  each  period  carefully,  and 
note  down  on  a  single  sheet  of  writing-paper  the  sins  that  we 
must  confess.  But,  wanting  to  do  it  thoroughly,  I  had  already 
reached  my  ninth  sheet.  And  I  was  still  only  at  the  beginning 
of  my  schooldays.  I  had  acknowledged  this  to  Monty,  who 
smiled  kindly,  and  said :  "It  is  a  Via  Dolorosa,  isn't  it  ?  But 
carry  on.    For  the  joy  that  is  set  before  you,  endure  the  cross." 

"It  was  easy  enough,"  complained  Doe,  "to  say  frankly 
'everything'  when  he  asked  us  what  we  had  to  confess;  but, 
when  you've  got  to  go  into  details,  it's  the  limit.  I  wish  I  were 
dead.  Monty  gave  me  a  long  list  of  questions  for  self- 
examination,  and  I  had  to  go  back  and  ask  him  for  more. 
They  didn't  nearly  cover  all  /'d  done." 

I  couldn't  help  smiling. 

"Yes,"  proceeded  Doe,  "Monty  laughed  too,  and  said :  'Don't 
get  rattled.  You're  one  of  the  best,  and  proving  it  every 
moment.'  And  that  brings  me  to  my  other  difficulty.  Rupert, 
all  my  life  I've  done  things  for  my  own  glory ;  and  I  did  want 
to  make  this  confession  a  perfect  thing,  free  from  wrong 
motives  like  that.  But  you've  no  idea  how  self-glorification 
has  eaten  into  me.  I  find  myself  hoping  Monty  will  say  mine  is 
the  best  Hfe  confession  he  has  ever  heard.     Isn't  it  awful?" 

232 


PART    I 


Fenance  283 


He  sighed  and  murmured:  "I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  do  an 
absolutely  perfect  thing/' 

Such  a  character  as  Doe's  must  ever  love  to  unrobe  itself 
before  a  friend ;  and  he  continued : 

"No,  I  know  my  motives  are  mixed  with  wrong.  For 
example,  I  don't  believe  I  should  do  this,  if  some  other  chap- 
lain, instead  of  Monty,  had  asked  me  to  do  it.  And  your  saying 
you'd  do  it  had  much  too  much  to  do  with  my  consenting.  But 
I  mn  trying  to  do  it  properly.  And,  after  turning  my  life  inside 
out,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I'm  a  bundle  of  sentiment 
and  self-glorification.  The  only  good  thing  that  I  can  see  in 
myself  is  that  where  I  love  I  give  myself  utterly.    It's  awful." 

So,  you  see,  in  these  words  did  Doe  admit  that  the  dog- 
like devotion,  which  he  had  once  given  to  Radley,  was  trans- 
ferred to  Monty.  In  my  own  less  intense  way  I  felt  the  same 
thing.  Radley  had  become  remote,  and  ceased  to  be  a  force  in 
our  lives;  Monty  reigned  in  his  stead.  We  were  boys;  and 
what's  the  use  of  pretending?    A  boy's  affection  is  not  eternal. 

Of  Doe's  confession  I  can  relate  no  more.  It  withdraws 
itself  into  a  privacy.  I  can  but  tell  you  the  tale  of  my  own 
experience. 


§2 

Monty's  cabin  was  to  be  his  confessional.  I  was  to  go  to  him 
early  the  next  morning,  as  I  had  been  detailed  for  Submarine 
Watch  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

I  approached  his  door,  stimulating  myself  for  the  ordeal  by 
saying  "In  half  an  hour  I  shall  have  told  all,  and  the  thing  will 
be  done."  A  certain  happiness  fought  in  my  mind  against  my 
shrinking  from  self-humiliation.  Two  moods  wrestled  in  me; 
the  one  said :  "The  long-dreaded  moment  is  on  you" ;  the  other 
said :  "The  eagerly  awaited  moment  has  come." 

I  found  Monty  ready  for  me,  robed  in  a  surplice  and  violet 
stole.  In  front  of  the  place  where  I  was  to  kneel  was  a 
crucifix. 

"Kneel  there,"  said  Monty,  "and,  if  necessary,  look  at  that. 
He  was  so  much  a  man  like  us  that  He  kept  the  glory  that  was 
set  before  Him  as  a  motive  for  enduring  the  cross." 


234  Tell  England  book  n 

I  knelt  down.  Nervousness  suddenly  possessed  me,  and  my 
voice  trembled,  as  I  read  the  printed  words : 

''Father,  give  me  thy  blessing,  for  I  have  sinned." 

Then  nervousness  left  me.  The  scene  became  very  calm.  It 
seemed  to  be  taking  place  somewhere  out  of  the  world.  The 
worldly  relations  of  the  two  taking  part  in  it  changed  as  in  a 
transfiguration.  I  ceased  to  think  of  Monty  as  a  lively  friend. 
He  had  become  a  stately  priest,  and  I  a  penitent.  He  had 
become  a  father,  and  I  a  child. 

With  a  quiet  deliberateness  that  surprised  me,  I  said  the 
"Confiteor,"  and  accused  myself  of  the  long  catalogue  of  sins 
that  I  had  prepared.  It  was  almost  mechanical.  Such  merit  as 
there  may  have  been  in  my  exhaustive  confession  must  have 
lain  in  what  conquering  of  obstacles  I  achieved  before  I  came 
to  my  knees  in  Monty's  presence,  because  I  was  conscious  of  no 
meritorious  effort  then.  It  was  as  if  I  had  battled  against  a 
running  current,  and  had  at  last  got  into  the  stream ;  for  now, 
as  I  spoke  in  the  confessional,  I  was  just  floating  without 
exertion  down  the  current. 

When  I  had  finished,  Monty  sat  without  saying  a  word.  I 
kept  my  face  in  my  hands,  and  waited  for  the  counsel  that  he 
would  offer. 

He  gave  me  the  very  thing  that  my  opening  manhood  was 
craving;  one  clear  and  lofty  ideal.  I  had  felt  blindly  for  it  that 
far-off  time  when,  as  a  small  boy,  the  recollection  of  my  grand- 
father's words :  "That  Rupert,  the  best  of  the  lot,"  had  lifted 
me  out  of  cheating  and  lies.  I  had  aspired  towards  it,  but  had 
not  seen  it,  that  evening  outside  Kensingtowe's  baths.  I  had 
seen  it  hazily  that  day  the  old  Colonel  spoke  of  our  Youth  and 
our  High  Calling. 

And  now  Monty  set  the  vision  in  front  of  me.  I  was  to  see 
three  ideals,  Goodness,  Truth,  and  Beauty,  and  merge  them  all 
in  one  vision — Beauty.  For  Goodness  was  only  beauty  in 
morals,  and  Truth  was  only  beauty  in  knowledge.  And  I  was 
to  overcome  my  sins,  not  by  negatively  fighting  against  them 
when  they  were  hard  upon  me,  but  by  positively  pursuing  in 
the  long  days  free  from  temptation  my  goal  of  Beauty.  Then 
the  things  which  I  had  confessed  would  gradually  drop  out  of 
my  life,  as  things  which  did  not  fit  in  with  my  ideal.  For  they 
were  not  good,  nor  true,  nor  beautiful. 


PART   I 


Penance  285 


"Pursue  Beauty/'  he  said,  "like  the  Holy  Grail." 

With  my  head  still  bowed  in  my  hands,  I  felt  that  happiness 
which  comes  upon  men  when  they  grasp  a  great  idea.  I  felt 
lofty  resolution  and  serene  confidence  flowing  into  me  like  wine. 

"And,  finally,"  said  this  masterly  priest,  "know  how  certain 
you  can  be  that  the  absolution  which  I  am  going  to  pronounce 
is  full  and  final.  God  only  asks  a  true  penitence,  and  you  can 
offer  Him  no  fairer  fruits  of  penitence  than  those  you  have 
brought  this  morning.  Know,  then,  that  there  will  be  no  whiter 
soul  in  all  God's  church  than  yours,  when  you  leave  this  room. 
For  you  will  be  as  white  as  when  you  left  the  baptismal  font. 
Now  listen.  You  shall  hear  what  was  worked  for  you  on 
Calvary." 

I  listened,  and  heard  him  speak  with  studied  solemnity  the 
words  of  absolution.  And  if  a  feeling  can  be  said  to  grow  up 
and  get  older,  then  there  came  upon  me  at  that  moment  the 
feeling  of  a  child  released  to  play  in  the  sunlight ;  only  it  was 
that  feeling  grown  to  a  man's  estate. 

I  rose  from  my  knees  to  find  that  I  was  standing  again  in  the 
world.  I  saw  a  ship's  cabin,  and  a  man  removing  a  violet  stole 
from  a  white  surplice.  It  didn't  seem  a  time  in  which  to  talk, 
so  I  turned  the  handle  of  the  cabin  door,  and  went  out  quietly. 

I  went  straight  to  my  Submarine  Watch  on  the  deck.  There 
was  a  glow  pervading  me,  as  of  something  pleasant  which  had 
just  occurred.  Forgive  me  if  it  be  weak  to  have  these  fleeting 
moments  of  exaltation,  but  I  was  seeing  goodness,  truth,  and 
beauty  in  everything.  The  bright  sunlight  was  beauty;  of 
course  it  was ;  the  blue  sea  was  beauty.  And  it  all  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  beauty  of  character  and  beauty  of  life. 

Imagine  me  this  rare  day,  lost  in  my  thoughts,  as  I  watched 
the  sea  running  by,  or  the  new  world  coming  to  meet  the  bows. 
Sometimes  I  watched  it  with  my  naked  eyes.  Sometimes  I 
hastened  the  approach  of  the  new  things  by  bringing  my  field 
glasses  to  bear  upon  them.  And,  all  the  time,  I  had  a  sense  of 
satisfaction,  as  of  something  pleasant  which  had  just  occurred. 

At  first  the  broad  blue  floor  of  the  sea  stretched  right  away 
on  every  side  without  a  sail  anywhere  to  suggest  that  it  was  a 
medium  of  traffic.  The  sky,  a  far  paler  blue,  met  the  horizon  all 
round.  It  was  only  a  slight  restlessness  over  the  surface  that 
made  the  Mediterranean  distinguishable  from  a  vast  and  still 


236  Tell  England  book  h 

inland  lake.  The  ship  plied  steadily  onward  in  the  opposite 
direction  to  the  sun,  which  looked  down  upon  the  scene  with  its 
hot  glance  unmodified  by  cloud  or  haze. 

With  my  glasses  I  swept  the  empty  waters.  At  last  I  saw, 
sketched  over  there  with  palest  touch,  a  line  of  mountains — just 
such  a  range  as  a  child  would  draw,  one  peak  having  a  narrow 
point,  another  a  rounded  summit.  This  land  lay  at  so  great  a 
distance  that  it  was  shadowless,  and  looked  like  a  long  bit  of 
broken  slate  with  its  jagged  ends  uppermost.  I  cast  in  my 
mind  whether  Gallipoli  loomed  like  this:  and  Gallipoli,  some- 
how, seemed  more  peaceful  since  that  satisfying  event  of  the 
morning. 

I  dropped  my  glasses.  For  the  first  time  I  realised  that  I  was 
setting  out  to  do  something  difficult  for  England.  Actually  I ! 
I  glowed  in  the  thought,  for  to-day,  if  ever,  I  was  in  an  heroic 
mood.  I  touched  for  a  moment  the  perfect  patriotism.  Yes,  if 
Beauty  demanded  it,  I  could  give  all  for  England — all. 

As  the  day  went  by,  we  seemed  to  be  rounding  that  moun- 
tainous island,  for  it  lingered  on  our  port,  always  changing  its 
aspect,  but  always  remaining  beautiful. 

The  whole  scene  was  Beauty.  And  this  Beauty,  urged  the 
voice  of  the  priest,  was  to  have  something  to  say  in  moments 
when  I  must  choose  between  this  bad  deed  and  that  good  one. 
Of  the  two,  I  was  to  do  the  one  that  was  the  more  like  the 
Mediterranean  on  a  summer  day. 

Oh,  I  had  a  clear  enough  ideal  now.  And  why  had  I  never 
seen  before,  as  Monty  had  seen,  that,  just  as  there  was  far 
more  beauty  in  seas  and  hills  than  ugliness,  so  on  the  whole 
there  was  more  goodness  in  human  characters  than  evil,  and, 
assuredly,  more  happiness  in  life  than  pain.  And  the  old 
Colonel,  too,  had  seen  beauty  in  youth  and  strength;  he  had 
seen  it  triumphing  in  Penny's  death  and  in  all  this  sanguinary 
Dardanelles  campaign. 

Yes,  I  had  closed  on  the  idea.  Even  the  lively  excesses  of 
Major  Hardy's  mob,  even  Jimmy  Boon's  cynical  humour  at  the 
prospect  of  death  had  much  in  them  like  the  Mediterranean  on 
a  summer  day. 

Or,  say,  on  a  summer  night  like  this.  For,  as  the  evening 
wore  on,  we  were  still  passing  this  long  island ;  and  a  pale  mist 
had  risen  in  a  narrow  ribbon  from  the  sea-line,  and  hidden  a 


PART   I 


Penance  237 


lower  belt  of  its  hills  from  my  view,  so  that  the  peaks  towered 
like  Mount  Ararats  above  a  rising  fiood  of  fog-damp ;  and,  as 
this  bank  of  mist  rose  upward,  the  sun  sank  downward,  a  disc 
of  gold  fire. 

I  followed  it  with  my  glasses ;  and  so  rapid  was  its  descent 
that,  before  I  could  count  a  hundred,  it  had  dipped  beneath  the 
water-line — become  a  flaming  semicircle — then  only  a  glowing 
rim — and  disappeared.  It  left  a  few  minutes'  afterglow,  with 
the  sky  every  shade  from  crimson  at  the  horizon  to  blue  at  the 
zenith. 

The  world  got  darker,  and  the  waves^  breaking  from  the 
ship's  bows,  began  to  spill  a  luminous  phosphorescence  on  the 
sea.  I  watched  a  little  longer;  and  then  the  stars  and  the 
phosphorescent  wave-crests  glistened  in  a  Mediterranean  night. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MAJOR   HARDY  AND  PADRE  MONTY  FINISH   THE  VOYAGE 

§   I 

BUT  I  must  hurry  on.  Here  am  I  dawdling  over  whai 
happened  indoors  in  the  minds  of  two  boys,  while  out  of 
doors  nations  were  battling  against  nations,  and  the  whole 
world  was  in  upheaval.  Here  am  I  happily  describing  so  local 
a  thing  as  the  effort  of  a  big-hearted  priest  to  rebuild  our 
spiritual  lives  on  the  quiet  moments  of  the  Mass  and  the  strange 
glorious  mystery  of  penance,  while  the  great  Division  which 
captured  the  beaches  of  Cape  Helles  had  been  brought  to  a 
standstill  by  the  impregnable  hill  of  Achi  Baba,  and  uncounted 
troopships  like  our  own  were  pouring  through  the  Mediter- 
ranean to  retrieve  the  fight. 

On  with  the  war,  then.  One  morning  I, was  wakened  by 
much  talking  and  movement  all  over  the  boat,  and  by  Doe's 
leaping  out  of  his  top  bunk,  kicking  me  in  passing,  and  dis- 
appearing through  the  cabin  door.  Back  he  came  in  a  minute, 
crying :  *'You  must  come  out  and  see  this  lovely,  white  dream- 
city.     We're  outside  Malta." 

I  rushed  out  to  find  Valetta,  the  grand  harbour  of  Malta, 
on  three  sides  of  us.  We  were  anchored;  and  the  hull  of  the 
Rangoon,  which  looked  very  huge  now,  was  surrounded  by 
Maltese  bumboats. 

Shore  leave  was  granted  us.  And,  ashore,  we  hurried 
through  the  blazing  heat  to  visit  the  hospitals  and  learn  from 
the  crowds  of  Gallipoli  sick  and  wounded  something  about  the 
fighting  at  Helles.  These  cheery  patients  shocked  our  optimism 
by  telling  us  that  it  was  hopeless  to  expect  the  capture  of  the 
hill  of  Achi  Baba  by  frontal  assault  and  that  any  further 
advance  at  Cape  Helles  was  scratched  off  the  programme.  The 
hosts  of  troops  that  were  passing  through  Malta  must,  they 

238 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  239 

surprised  us  by  declaring,  be  destined  for  some  secret  move 
elsewhere  than  at  Helles,  for  there  was  no  room  for  them  on 
the  narrow  tongue  of  land  beneath  Achi  Baba. 

"We're  wild  to  know  whaf s  in  the  wind,"  said  a  sister. 
"The  stream  of  transports  has  never  stopped  for  the  last  few 
days." 

That  we  could  well  believe.  There  were  two  huge  liners 
crammed  with  khaki  figures  in  the  harbour  that  morning. 

"We  are  going  to  win,  I  imagine  ?"  asked  Monty,  with  a  note 
of  doubt. 

"O  lord,  yes,"  replied  a  superbly  bonny  youngster,  without  a 
right  arm.  "But  I  don't  envy  you  going  to  the  Peninsula.  It's 
heat,  dust,  flies,  and  dysentery.  And  Mudros  is  ten  times 
worse." 

"What's  Mudros?"  asked  I. 

"Mudros,"  broke  in  Doe,  blushing,  as  he  aired  his  classical 
learning,  "is  a  harbour  in  the  Isle  of  Lemnos  famous  in 
classical " 

"Mudros,"  interrupted  the  one-armed  man,  proud  of  his 
experience,  "is  a  harbour  in  the  Island  of  Lemnos,  and  the 
filthiest  hole " 

"Mudros,"  continued  Doe,  refusing  to  be  beaten,  "is  a  harv 
hour  in  the  Isle  of  Lemnos,  which  is  the  island  where  Jason 
and  the  Argonauts  landed,  and  found  Hypsipele  and  the  women 
who  had  murdered  their  husbands.  Jupiter  hurled  Vulcan 
from  Heaven,  and  he  fell  upon  Lemnos.  And  it's  sad  to  relate 
that  Achilles  and  Agamemnon  had  a  bit  of  a  dust-up  there." 

"Well,  that  may  be,"  said  the  one-armed  hero,  rather  crushed 
by  Doe's  weighty  lecture.  "But  you're  going  to  Mudros  first  in 
your  transport,  and  you'll  probably  die  of  dysentery  there." 

"Good  Lord,"  said  I. 

We  selected  the  ward  where  we  would  have  our  beds  when 
we  came  down  wounded,  and  the  particular  pretty  sister  who 
should  nurse  us ;  and  went  out  into  the  dazzling  sun.  Having 
climbed  to  a  high  level  that  overlooked  the  harbour,  we  leaned 
against  a  stone  parapet,  and  examined  the  French  warships  that 
slept,  with  one  eye  open,  up  a  narrow  blue  waterway.  For 
Malta  in  191 5  was  a  French  naval  base. 

"Sad  to  see  them  there,  sir,"  said  a  convalescent  Tommy, 
pointing  to  the  grey  cruisers  flying  the  tricolour.     "They've 


240  Tell  England  book  ii 

been  bottled  up  there,  since  the  submarines  appeared  off  Helles 
and  sank  the  Majestic  and  t'other  boats.  There's  only  de- 
stroyers loafing  around  Cape  Helles  now,  sir." 

"Great  Scott,  is  that  so?''  asked  Monty.  "But  I  suppose 
we're  going  to  win  ?" 

"O  lord,  yes,"  said  the  Tommy. 

We  got  back  to  the  Rangoon  just  before  sundown.  And, 
when  the  sun  began  to  soften  and  to  bathe  the  white  buildings 
of  Valetta  in  ruddy  hues,  our  siren  boomed  out  its  farewell, 
and  two  English  girls  in  a  small  boat  waved  an  incessant  good- 
bye. Crowds  gathered  to  brandish  handkerchiefs,  as  our 
transport  crept  away,  with  the  boys  singing:  "Roaming  in  the 
gloaming  on  the  banks  of  the  Dardanelles,"  and  yelling:  "Are 
we  downhearted  ?    NO !    Are  we  going  to  win  ?    YES  !" 

"Well,  that's  the  last  of  Malta,"  murmured  Jimmy  Doon. 
"Another  landmark  in  our  lives  gone." 


§2 

Two  days'  run  brought  us  outside  Alexandria.  And  the 
confoundedly  learned  Doe,  pointing  out  to  me  the  pink  and 
yellow  town  upon  the  African  sands,  among  its  palms  and  its 
shipping,  said:  "Behold  the  city  of  Alexander  the  Great,  of 
Julius  Csesar  and  Cleopatra ;  the  home  of  the  Greek  scriptures  ; 
and  the  see  of  the  great  saints,  Clement,  Athanasius,  and  Cyril." 

So  I  did  what  he  wanted.  I  called  Jiim  a  Classical  Encyclo- 
paedia, at  which  he  looked  uncomfortable  and  pleased. 

It  vv^as  Alexandria  right  enough.  We  had  reached  at  last  the 
base  of  the  Dardanelles  fight,  and  entered  the  outskirts  of  that 
ancient  imperial  world,  which  the  old  Colonel  had  told  us  was 
the  theatre  of  the  campaign. 

Travelling  very  slowly,  we  steamed  into  the  huge  harbour. 
And  soon  we  were  moored  against  one  of  its  forty  quays,  and 
being  addressed  in  an  infernal  jangle  of  tongues  by  hundreds  of 
begg-ing  Arabs  who  came  rushing  through  the  guns,  limbers  and 
field  kitchens  arrayed  on  the  quay. 

More  anxious  than  ever  for  news  of  the  fight,  we  applied 
for  shore  leave,  and,  after  lunch,  went  down  the  gangway,  and 
trod  the  soil  of  Africa  for  the  first  time. 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  241 

At  once,  like  an  overpowering  personality,  the  East  rose  up 
to  greet  us,  oppressing  us  with  its  merciless  Egyptian  sun  and 
its  pungent  smell  of  dark  humanity.  Heady  with  the  sun,  and 
sick  with  the  smell,  we  found  ourselves  in  one  of  the  worst 
streets  of  Alexandria,  the  "Rue  des  Soeurs/'  a  filthy  thorough- 
fare of  brothels  masquerading  as  shops,  and  of  taverns,  which, 
like  the  rest  of  the  world,  had  gone  into  military  dress  and 
called  themselves:  "The  Army  and  Navy  Bar,"  "The  Lord 
Kitchener  Bar,"  and  "The  Victory  Bar." 

Phew !  the  sweat  and  the  stench !  The  East  was  a  vapour 
bath.  What  a  climate  for  a  white  man  to  make  war  in !  And 
yet  everywhere  in  this  city  of  Alexander  and  Athanasius, 
British  and  Australian  soldiers  sauntered  on  foot  or  drove 
government  waggons  through  the  streets.  Sick  and  wounded, 
too,  roamed  abroad  in  their  blue  hospital  uniforms.  Only  too 
pleased  to  display  before  three  eager  novices  their  superior 
acquaintance  with  GallipoH,  they  told  us  the  story  we  had  heard 
at  Malta :  the  Helles  army,  firmly  stopped  by  the  hill  of  Achi 
Baba,  was  melting  away  in  the  atrocious  heat ;  but  some  start- 
ling new  venture  was  expected,  for  the  forty  quays  of  Alex- 
andria had  been  scarcely  sufficient  to  cater  for  the  troops  and 
stores  that  had  put  in  there ;  and  all  the  hospitals  in  Egypt  had 
been  emptied  to  admit  twenty  thousand  casualties. 

We  hired  a  buggy,  and  drove  back  through  the  same  odorous 
street  to  the  dockyard,  and,  having  given  the  thief  of  an  Arab 
driver  a  third  of  his  demands,  went  straight  to  our  cabins  to 
rinse  our  mouths  out. 

Next  day  at  sundown,  the  siren  boomed  good-bye.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  military  reason  for  it,  but  we  always  left  these 
ports  at  sunset.  It  was  sunset,  as  we  steamed  out  of  Malta ; 
and  now,  with  the  sky  flushed  and  the  air  rose-tinted,  we  began 
to  slip  gently  out  of  the  harbour,  amid  cheers  and  handwavings 
from  every  ship  that  we  passed.  We  were  picking  our  course 
between  the  ships,  when  Monty  plucked  my  sleeve,  and,  point- 
ing to  a  home-bound  liner,  murmured : 

"Beauty,  Rupert." 

I  looked,  and  saw  what  he  meant.  For  in  the  big  liner's 
bows  two  tiny  English  children  clad  in  white,  a  little  boy  and 
girl,  waved  mechanically  under  the  instructions  of  their  sweet- 
faced  English  mother,  who,  though  a  young  one,  looked  with  a 


242  Tell  England  book  n 

mother's  eyes  at  our  yellow  rows  of  helmeted  lads,  and  waved 
the  more  energetically  (I  doubt  not)  as  she  strove  to  keep  back 
her  tears.  In  the  sad  „eyes  of  that  youthful  mother  I  saw 
looking  out  at  us  the  maternal  love  of  her  sex  for  all  the  sons 
of  woman.  She  was  the  last  Englishwoman  that  many  of  these 
boys  ever  saw. 

As  we  drew  near  the  entrance  of  the  harbour,  a  cheery 
Englishman  was  swept  past  in  a  white-sailed  craft,  and  called 
out,  as  the  wind  bore  him  away :  "Good-bye,  lads.  Do  your 
duty,  lads.  Give  'em  hell  ev'ry  time."  Almost  the  next  minute 
he  was  a  white  speck  among  the  shipping  of  the  harbour,  and 
we  were  out  in  the  open  sea. 


§3 

The  Rangoon  had  taken  aboard  at  Alexandria  a  number 
of  new  officers  who,  after  being  wounded  on  Gallipoli  and 
treated  in  Egypt,  were  now  returning  as  fit  for  duty.  One 
showed  a  long,  white  scar  across  his  scalp,  where  a  bullet  had 
just  missed  his  brain.  Another,  who  had  still  two  bullets  in 
his  body,  had  been  with  our  schoolfellow  Moles  White  in  the 
River  Clyde  on  the  great  April  morning.  These  were  peo- 
ple to  be  stared  at  and  admired.  They  occupied  exactly  the 
same  position  to  us  as  the  bloods  did  when  we  were  at  school. 
They  spoke  with  ease  and  grace  of  Mudros  Harbour,  of  the 
great  April  landing  at  Helles,  of  the  Eski  Line,  the  River  Clyde, 
the  Gully  Ravine,  and  Asiatic  Annie.  We  felt  very  near  the 
trenches,  when  they  thus  tossed  fabled  names  about  in  com- 
monplace conversations.  They  never  used  the  name  "GalHpoli," 
but  always  '^The  Peninsula."    We  made  a  mental  note  of  this. 

And  they  affected  very  shrewd  ideas  about  the  surprise  push 
that  was  coming  off;  but  since  they  only  nodded  their  heads 
wisely  and  refused  to  be  drawn,  we  suspected  that  they  knew 
no  more  about  it  than  we  did.  They  would  point,  with  the 
pride  of  previous  knowledge,  to  the  purple-hilled  islands  of 
the  ^Egean  that  we  were  passing  all  day :  Rhodes,  and  Patmos, 
and  Mitylene.  They  laughed  with  damnable  superiority  at 
our  extensive  kit,  declaring  that  for  their  part  they  had  left 
everything  at  the  base,  and  were  carrying  only  a  few  pounds  of 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  243 

necessaries  to  the  Peninsula.  Some  of  them  walked  the  deck 
in  private's  uniform,  maintaining  that  it  was  suicide  to  go  to 
the  Peninsula  trenches  in  the  distinctive  dress  of  an  officer. 
They  were  quite  modest,  simple  folk,  no  doubt,  but  they  cer- 
tainly thought  they  were  the  only  people  who  realised  that  there 
was  a  war  on. 

Jimmy  Doon,  who  had  heard  nothing  of  his  lost  draft  at 
Alexandria,  and  was  much  relieved  thereby,  became  incor- 
rigible when  he  smelt  the  whiff  of  the  trenches  brought  by 
these  heroes.  He  would  invite  our  subscriptions  to  the  daily 
sweepstake  with  the  words:  "Come  along,  fork  out.  Last 
few  sweeps  of  your  life."  And  he  would  take  me  aside  and 
say:  "I  suppose  I  shall  be  daisy-pushing  soon.  Tedious, 
isn't  it?" 

Late  one  afternoon,  when  we  were  only  an  hour's  run  from 
Mudros,  there  came  by  wireless  the  inspiring  news  that  solved 
the  riddle  of  the  chain  of  transports  in  the  Mediterranean  and 
the  empty  hospitals  in  Alexandria.  The  simple  typed  message 
that  was  pinned  on  the  notice-board,  and  could  scarcely  be 
read  for  the  crowds  surrounding  it,  ran:  'We  have  landed 
in  strong  force  at  Suvla  Bay  and  penetrated  seven  miles  inland. 
Ends!' 

A  new  landing,  hurrah !  April  25th  over  again !  The  miracle 
of  Helles  repeated  at  Suvla!  Out  with  the  maps  to  study 
the  strategy  of  the  move!  The  map  showed  us  Suvla  Bay 
far  up  the  coast  of  the  Peninsula,  a  long  way  behind  Achi 
Baba.  We  measured  seven  miles,  and  decided  that  the  Turks' 
communications  with  Achi  Baba  must  have  been  cut.  "Curse 
it,"  said  an  enthusiast,  "we're  just  too  late."  We  had  visions 
of  the  Turkish  Army  flying  from  the  Helles  front  in  frantic 
efforts  to  escape  the  surrounding  threatened  by  this  landing 
in  their  rear.  We  saw  them  abandoning  their  impregnable 
positions  at  Achi  Baba,  abandoning  the  forts  of  the  Narrows, 
and  retreating,  if  they  could  elude  destruction,  upon  Con- 
stantinople. 

And  while  the  strategists  on  deck  were  getting  delirious 
in  their  prophecies,  the  ship  steered  a  path  round  two  out- 
lying islets,  and  entered  the  deep  indentation  in  Lemnos  Island, 
which  is  the  mighty,  hill-locked  harbour  of  Mudros.  A  little 
French   destroyer,  pearl-grey  in  the   evening  light,   steamed 


244  Tell  England 


BOOK    II 


past  us,  and  the  French  sailors  waved  their  arms,  and  danced 
a  welcome  to  this  troopship  of  their  allies.  The  Rangoon 
yelled  at  them:  "What  price  Suvla?''  Some  English  sailors, 
towed  past  in  coal  barges,  asked  us  whether  we  were  down- 
hearted, and  we  called  back :  "NO !  What— price— SUVLA ! 
Are  we  going  to  win  ?    YES !" 

Now,  I  ask  you,  have  the  subalterns  an  excuse,  or  have 
they  not,  for  a  rough-house  this  night?  It's  their  last  night 
aboard,  for  to-morrow  morning  the  smaller  boats  will  come 
and  carry  them  to  the  deadly  Peninsula:  and  it's  the  evening 
that  has  brought  the  news  of  the  Suvla  landing.  Excuse  or 
not,  they  fetch  the  money  out  of  their  pockets  at  dinner,  and 
order  the  champagne  before  the  soup  is  off  the  table.  Jimmy 
Doon,  whipping  the  golden  cap  off  his  magnum  of  "bubbly 
wine,"  says:  "Fve  the  horrible  feeling  I  shall  be  dead  this 
time  to-morrow.  Pass  your  glasses,  damn  you.  Cheerioh! 
Many  'appy  returns  from  the  Great  War — some  day." 
"Cheerioh,  Jimmy,"  we  acknowledge.    "  'Appy  days !" 

And,  when  the  hundred  subalterns,  who  form  the  first  sit- 
ting at  dinner,  vacate  their  places  at  the  tables  to  make  room 
for  the  seniors,  who  come  in  state  to  the  second  sitting,  any- 
one who  sees  them  rushing  upstairs  to  the  lounge,  the  bar, 
and  the  piano,  knows  that  there  will  be  noise  before  the  clock 
is  an  hour  older.  It  begins  in  the  lounge:  but  the  impulse 
of  the  spirit  of  riot  is  too  strong  for  the  rough-house  to  be 
localised  there.  It's  the  end  of  the  voyage,  and  they  must  forth- 
with go  and  cheer  the  General.  They  .must  cheer  the  Captain. 
Above  all  they  must  cheer  Major  Hardy,  the  old  sport!  The 
mass  of  subalterns  flows  down  the  first  flight  of  stairs  to 
the  square  gallery  which  overlooks  the  dining  saloon,  like  rail- 
ings looking  down  into  a  bear-pit.  And,  like  the  bears,  the 
seniors  were  feeding  in  the  bottom  of  the  saloon.  They  look  up 
from  their  nuts  and  wine  to  see  a  hundred  flushed  young 
faces  staring  from  the  gallery  at  their  meal. 

"Three  cheers  for  the  General !"  cries  a  voice  in  the  gallery. 

Three  of  the  noisiest  fill  the  ship.  And,  when  a  hundred 
British  officers  have  yelled  three  cheers,  it's  in  the  nature  of 
them  to  go  on  and  sing:  "For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow,"  and 
to  finish  up  with  a  final  cheer  that  leaves  its  forerunners  no- 
where.   It's  a  way  they  have  in  the  Army. 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  245 

''Speech!     Speech!"  demand  exalted  voices. 

The  General  rises:  and  that's  an  excuse,  heaven  help  us, 
for  more  cheers,  and  ''He's  a  jolly  good  fellow"  all  over  again. 
The  seniors  are  young  enough  to  beat  time  on  the  tables  by 
hammering  with  their  spoons  till  the  plates  dance;  and  by 
tinkling  their  glasses  like  tubular  bells.  In  the  last  cheer  one 
major  so  far  forgets  himself — his  name  is  Hardy — as  to  let 
go  with  a  cat-call,  after  which  he  immediately  retires  into 
his  monocle,  and  pretends  he  hasn't. 

The  General,  who  is  a  kindly  old  brigadier  with  twinkling 
eyes,  says :  "I  can't  make  a  speech,  but  I'll  sing  you  a  song." 
He  raises  his  glass  to  the  gallery,  and  to  the  hundred  faces 
looking  down,  and  starts  in  a  wheezy  tenor:  "For  they  are 
jolly  good  fellows."  He  gets  no  further,  but  takes  advantage 
of  the  tumult  of  cheering  to  resume  his  seat. 

The  Captain,  a  naval  hero  of  the  Helles  landing,  is  put 
through  it.  And  in  his  speech  he  says :  "If  the  Navy  is  really 
the  father  and  mother  of  the  Army  in  this  Gallipoli  stunt, 
then  I  say — father  and  mother  are  proud  of  their  children" 
—-(cheers  from  the  ship's  officers).  "The  ships  came  as  close 
in  shore  as  possible — and  always  will,  gentlemen,  as  long  as 
you're  on  that  plagued  Peninsula — but,  by  God!  it  was  the 
Army  that  left  the  shelter  of  the  ships,  and  went  through  the 
blizzard  of  bullets  on  to  the  beaches  of  Cape  Helles." 

Can  such  a  compliment  be  acknowledged  otherwise  than 
uproariously?    Close  your  ears,  if  you  can't  stand  a  noise. 

The  Chief  Officer  is  put  through  it.  And  by  way  of  a  speech 
he  says:  "Suppose,  instead  of  cheering  me,  you  cheer  the 
fellows  who  have  landed  at  Suvla?" 

"Highland  Honours!"  yells  a  voice.  And  the  seniors  rise, 
stand  upon  their  chairs,  put  one  foot  on  the  table  amongst  the 
plates,  and,  raising  their  glasses,  join  in  the  musical  honours 
given  to  the  new  army  at  Suvla. 

Major  Hardy  is  called,  and  a  speech  demanded  from  him. 
Loudly  applauded,  he  limps  to  the  middle  of  the  saloon,  puts 
his  monocle  in  his  eye,  and  says  one  sentence :  "I  never  heard 
such  bloody  nonsense  in  all  my  life."  Releasing  his  monocle 
so  that  it  falls  on  his  chest,  he  limps  back  to  his  seat,  and 
apologises  to  Monty. 

The  seniors  having  been  thus  sporting,  it  occurs  to  some 


246  Tell  England  book  h 

bright  young  devil  that  it  would  be  a  graceful  thing  to  sing 
"Home,  sweet  Home''  to  them,  as  they  finish  their  meal.  And 
**Home,  sweet  Home"  leads  naturally  to  "Auld  Lang  Syne," 
sung  with  linked  arms  and  swaying  bodies. 

And  then  the  crowd  of  subalterns,  worked  up  by  the  licence 
allowed  it,  like  a  horse  excited  by  a  head- free  gallop,  returns  in 
force  to  the  lounge.  The  pianist  strikes  up  "The  Old  Folks  at 
Home."  A  Scotsman  breaks  in  with  the  proclamation  that 
Ifs  oh!  but  he's  longing  for  his  ain  folk;  Though  he's  far 
across  the  sea.  Yet  his  heart  will  ever  be  Away  in  dear  old 
Scotland  with  his  ain  folk.  And  an  Irishman,  feeling  that 
there's  too  much  of  Scotland  about  these  songs,  begins  to 
publish  the  attractions  of  the  hills  of  Donegal : 

"And,  please  God,  if  He  so  wills, 
Soon  I'll  see  my  Irish  hills. 
The  hills  of  Donegal,  so  dear  to  mc." 

Then  the  piano  rings  out  with  ancient  dance-tunes,  and  Harry 
Fenwick,  prince  of  dancers,  seizes  Edgar  Doe  round  the 
waist,  and,  clasping  the  slim  youth  to  him,  leads  the  boy  (who's 
as  graceful  as  a  girl  and  as  sinuous  as  a  serpent)  through 
the  voluptuous  movements  of  the  latest  dance.  Up  and  down 
go  their  outstretched  arms  like  a  pump  handle,  but  oh!  so 
sweetly;  round  and  round  with  eyes  half-closed  swirl  their 
bodies;  and,  just  as  you  think  they  are  going  round  again, 
they  surprise  you  by  teasingly  stepping  out  the  music  in  a 
straight  line  across  the  lounge;  and,  when  you  least  expect 
it,  they  are  retracing  dainty  steps  along  the  same  straight  line 
— always  seductive,  tantalising,  enticing. 

But  stop  the  dance.  Here  arrives  Major  Hardy  to  a  din 
of  welcome.  And  under  his  instructions  they  burn  the  cham- 
pagne corks^  and  therewith  decorate  their  faces.  One  is  orna- 
mented with  a  pointed  beard  and  the  devil's  horns,  and  turned 
into  Mephistopheles.  One  is  given  an  unshaven  chin,  and 
made  to  represent  Moses  Ikey stein.  Another  is  a  White-eyed 
Kaffir.  And  don't  think  Major  Hardy  omits  himself.  Not 
he.    He  is  Hindenburg. 

Jimmy  Doon,  I  regret  to  say,  is  undoubtedly  drunk.  He  is 
walking  about  seeking  someone  to  fight.    To  my  discomfiture 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  247 

he  approaches  me  as  his  best  friend,  and  therefore  the  one 
most  likely  to  fight  him. 

"Will  you  fight?''  says  he.    'There's  a  decent  shap." 

I  try  with  a  sickly  laugh  to  appear  at  my  ease,  and  answer : 
"No,  damned  if  I  will,"  blushing  to  the  roots  of  my  hair,  and 
wishing  the  painful  person  would  go  away. 

"And  you  call  yourself  a  Christian!"  retorts  Jimmy;  which 
provokes  the  rest  of  the  subalterns  to  hold  a  court-martial  on 
James  Doon  for  being  tight.  And  they  court-martial  Fishy 
Fielding,  an  ugly  fellow,  whose  eyes  are  like  a  cod's.  What 
for,  you  seek  to  know.  Well,  they  court-martial  him  because 
of  his  face.     Both  culprits  are  found  guilty. 

At  I  a.m.  Jimmy  staggers  to  his  cabin  to  rest  a  swimming 
head.  But  he  doesn't  go  to  sleep  till  he  has  summoned  his 
steward,  and  instructed  him  to  call  him  early  in  the  morning 
— call  him  early — call  him  early,  for  he's  to  be  Queen  of  the 
May. 

§4 

The  riot  had  been  still  young  when  Doe  entered  the  lounge 
from  the  deck,  and,  walking  up  to  me,  said: 

"Come  outside  a  minute." 

He  moved  and  spoke  with  the  slight  excitement  and  mys- 
teriousness  of  one  who  had  discovered  something.  I  followed 
him  out  from  the  noise  of  the  lounge  into  the  silence  of  the 
deck. 

"Come  where  it's  quiet,"  he  whispered. 

We  walked  to  the  deserted  bows. 

"Now  listen.     Do  you  hear  anything?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  after  awhile. 

"Listen  again.     You  won't  catch  it  first  go." 

I  strained  my  ears,  while  Doe  stared  at  me. 

"Yes,  I  hear  it,"  I  proclaimed  at  last.  "Is  it  Helles,  do  you 
think,  or  Suvla?" 

"I  expect  some  of  it  is  the  old  Turk  trying  to  resist  the 
invasion  of  Suvla." 

For  I  had  heard  a  distant  throb  in  the  air — no  more — like 
a  heart  beating  miles  away.  At  times  the  throb  became  a 
rumble  which  could  be  felt  rather  than  heard.     Something  in 


248  Tell  England  book  n 

me  jumped  at  the  sound.  The  startled  feeling  was  rather  pleas- 
ing than  otherwise.  It  was  not  a  small  thing  to  hear  for  the 
first  time  the  guns  of  Gallipoli,  to  whose  mouths  our  lives  had 
been  slowly  drawing  us  during  nineteen  years. 


§5 

Padre  Monty  finished  the  voyage  in  his  own  style.  Early 
the  next  morning  he  had  a  corporate  farewell  Mass  for  all 
his  servers  and  his  family.  And  this  is  the  true  story  how 
Major  Hardy  chanced  to  limp  to  the  service. 

He  retired  early  from  the  revels  of  the  previous  night,  and, 
as  Doe  and  I  were  getting  into  our  bunks,  we  heard  him  in  his 
cabin  next  door  whistling  ''Home,  sweet  Home,"  while  he  dis- 
robed.   We  heard  the  steward  ask  him: 

"What  time  will  you  be  called  in  the  morning,  sir  ?" 

"What  time?''  answered  the  Major's  voice,  when  he  had 
finished  the  tune.  "What  time?  Let's  see.  I  say,  Ray,"  he 
inquired  through  the  wall,  "this  padre-fellow's  got  a  service 
or  something  in  the  morning — whatf 

"Yes,  sir,"  shouted  I. 

"Some  unearthly  hour,  seven  or  what?" 

"Seven-thirty,  sir." 

"Ah  yes,"  said  the  Major's  voice,  soft  again,  to  the  steward, 
"call  me  six-thirty." 

"Yes,  sir.     Will  you  have  shaving , water  then,  sir?" 

"Shaving  water — whatf  Yes,  surely."  And  the  Major 
shouted  through  the  wall:    "We  shave,  don't  we,  Ray?" 

"Well,  yes,  sir,"  agreed  I. 

"Of  course,"  continued  the  Major,  reproachfully,  to  the 
steward.  "Bring  shaving  water.  And  there'll  be  the  most 
deplorable  row  if  it's  not  hot." 

"Will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea  to  get  up  with,  sir?"  asked  the 
steward. 

"Tea?  What?  No,  I  don't  think  so.  No,  surely  not." 
Once  more  he  sought  enlightenment  through  the  wall.  "We 
don't  have  tea,  do  we,  Ray?" 

"Well,  no,  sir.    That's  as  you  please." 

"No.    No  tea,  steward.    Of  course  not.    What  nonsense!" 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  249 

"Very  good,  sir.    Good  night,  sir." 

"Good  night,  steward.  .  .  .  You  see,  Ray,"  shouted  Major 
Hardy,  "I  am  a  bit  out  of  this  church  business.  Must  get  into 
it  again — zvhat.    And  the  padre's  a  good  fellow." 

In  such  wise  Major  Hardy  half  apologised  to  two  boys  for 
being  present,  and  limped  to  the  service. 

Half  a  hundred  others  crowded  the  smoking  room.  This 
last  Mass  being  what  Monty  called  his  "prize  effort,"  he  in- 
sisted on  having  two  servers,  and  selected  Doe  and  myself, 
whom  he  chose  to  regard  as  his  "prize  products."  On  either 
side  of  the  altar  we  took  our  places,  not  now  clad  in  white 
flannels,  but  uniformed  and  booted  for  going  ashore.  Monty, 
as  he  approached  the  altar,  gave  one  quick,  involuntary  glance 
at  his  packed  congregation,  ready  dressed  for  war,  and  slightly 
sparkled  and  flushed  with  pleasure. 

After  the  Creed  had  been  said,  Monty  turned  to  deliver  a 
little  farewell  address.  Very  simply  he  told  his  hearers  that, 
when  in  a  few  hours*  time  the  boats  came  to  take  them  to 
the  Peninsula  Beaches,  they  were  to  know  that  they  were  doing 
the  right  thing.  There  was  a  tense  stillness,  as  he  said  with 
suggestive  slowness:  "I  am  only  the  lips  of  your  Church. 
She  has  been  with  you  on  this  ship,  and  striven  not  to  fail  you. 
And  now  to  God's  mercy  and  protection  she  commits  you.  The 
Lord  bless  you  and  keep  you.  The  Lord  give  you  His  peace 
this  day  and  evermore." 

If  Monty  desired  to  fill  the  room  with  an  unworldly  atmos- 
phere, and  to  raise  the  clou3  "Shechinah"  around  his  little 
altar,  he  knew  by  the  solemn  hush,  as  he  turned  to  continue  the 
Mass,  that  he  had  succeeded.  And  at  the  end  of  it  all  he 
added  a  farewell  hymn,  which  the  congregation  rose  from  their 
knees  to  sing.  Sung  to  the  tune  of  "Home,  sweet  Home," 
like  an  echo  from  the  purer  parts  of  the  previous  night,  its 
words  were  designed  by  Monty  to  linger  for  many  a  day  in  the 
minds  of  his  soldier-servers. 

"Dismiss  me  not  Thy  service,  Lord, 

But  train  me  for  Thy  will : 
For  even  I  in  fields  so  broad 

Some  duties  may  fulfil : 
And  I  would  ask  for  no  reward 

Except  to  serve  Thee  still." 


250  Tell  England  book  h 

So  they  sang :  and  they  went  out  on  to  the  sunlit  deck  trail- 
ing clouds  of  glory. 


§6 

It  really  did  seem  the  end  of  the  voyage,  and  the  beginning 
of  something  utterly  new — and  something  so  dangerous  withal 
that  our  pulse-rate  quickened  with  suspense — when  the  Mili- 
tary Landing  Officer  came  aboard,  laden  with  papers,  and, 
sitting  at  a  table  in  the  lounge,  gave  into  the  hands  of  boys, 
who  yesterday  were  playing  quoits-tennis,  written  orders  to 
proceed  at  once  to  such  places  as  W.  Beach  on  Helles  or  the 
new  front  at  Suvla. 

"Here  we  take  our  tickets  for  the  tumbrils,"  murmured 
Jimmy  Doon,  as  we  stood  awaiting  our  turn.  "Third  single 
for  La  Guillotine." 

And  yet  it  was  with  a  jar  of  disappointment  that  we  heard 
the  M.L.O.  say  to  Doe,  after  consulting  his  papers : 

"Stop  at  Mudros.    Report  to  Rest  Camp,  Mudros  East/' 

"Why,  sir,  am  I  not  going  to "  began  Doe. 

"Next,  please.  What  name  ?"  interrupted  the  M.L.O.  There 
was  war  forty  miles  away,  and  no  time  to  argue  with  a  young 
subaltern.    "What  name,  you  ?" 

"Ray,  sir.     East  Cheshires." 

"Rest  Camp,  Mudros." 

"But  is  it  for  long,  sir  ?"  ventured  I. 

"Next,  please.    What  name,  padre?" 

"Monty,"  answered  our  friend.    "East  Cheshires.'* 

"Report  Rest  Camp/'  promptly  said  the  M.L.O.,  and,  rais- 
ing his  voice,  called  to  the  waiting  crowd:  "All  East  Cheshire 
Details  detained  at  Mudros." 

"But  I  have  to  relieve "  began  Monty. 

"Next,  please.  What  name?"  the  M.L.O.  burst  in,  looking 
up  into  Jimmy  Doon's  face. 

"Jimmy — I  mean.  Lieutenant  Doon,  Fifth  East  Lanes/' 

"Held  up,  Mudros.    Report " 

"But  my  draft,  sir,  has " 

"Next,  please/' 

And  Jimmy  came  away,  hoping  he  had  heard  the  last  of  his 


PART  I  Finishing  the  Voyage  251 

draft.  He  joined  our  Cheshire  group,  which  was  discussing  the 
latest  thunderbolt. 

"Lord,  isn't  it  enormously  unseemly  ?"  he  grumbled.  "Fm 
left  out,  too.  Why,  I've  been  a  year  in  the  Army,  and  not  yet 
seen  a  man  killed.    I  hoped  I  was  certain  to  see  one  now." 

"You  detestably  gruesome  little  cad,"  said  Monty. 

"I  wonder  if  it's  for  long,"  murmured  Doe.  "I'd  take  the 
risk  of  being  killed  rather  than  not  be  able  to  say  I'd  seen  the 
great  Cape  Helles,  or,  failing  Helles,  this  new  Suvla  front." 

"As  it  is,"  grunted  Jimmy,  "we  shall  probably  be  at  Mudros 
till  the  end  of  the  world." 

The  M.L.O.  had  not  been  gone  an  hour  before  the  Navy 
sent  its  pinnaces  with  large  lighters  in  tow  for  conveying  the 
first  drafts  to  the  Peninsula  ferry-boats.  Each  pinnace  was  in 
command  of  a  midshipman,  generally  a  fair-haired  English  boy 
looking  about  fifteen.  These  baby  officers,  who  gave  their 
orders  to  wide-chested  and  bronzed  Tars,  old  enough  to  be 
their  fathers,  were  stared  at  by  us  with  romantic  interest.  For 
there  had  been  stories  in  England  of  the  deeds  of  the  middies 
in  the  famous  First  Landing  at  Helles,  when  they  remained  in 
the  bows  of  the  boats  they  commanded,  scorning  cover  of  any 
kind,  as  became  British  officers  in  charge  of  men. 

After  the  lighters,  the  Snaefell,  an  old  Isle  of  Man  steamer, 
came  alongside,  and,  having  taken  some  hundreds  of  men 
aboard,  edged  away  from  us,  while  Major  Hardy,  his  heart 
ever  overthrowing  his  dignity,  said  wrathfuUy: 

"Give  'em  a  cheer  or  something,  damn  you." 

We  raised  a  cheer.  The  men  responded,  though  not  very 
effectively,  and  cheered  and  waved  as  the  Snaefell  carried  them 
away. 

"They  know  what  they're  going  to,  poor  lads,"  mumbled 
Major  Hardy. 

Next  came  the  Redbreast,  whose  decks  were  soon  as  crowded 
as  the  Sfiae fell's  had  been.  Major  Hardy  scanned  them 
through  his  eyeglass,  and  then  turned  snuffily  upon  us  and 
said: 

"Damn  your  English  reticence!  Damn  your  unimaginative 
silence!  Why  don't  you  study  the  psychology  of  these  boys 
and  this  moment?" 


252  Tell  England  book  ii 

Leaning  over  the  rail,  he  cried  at  the  crowd  on  the  Red- 
breast: 

"Good-bye,  lads.  Let  fly !  Three  cheers  for  the  king !  Let 
'em  go!" 

The  boys  caught  his  enthusiasm,  as  boys  always  will,  and 
followed  his  lead,  cheering  the  king  and  singing:  'Tor  he's 
a  jolly  good  fellow.  .  .  .  And  so  say  all  of  us.  With  a  hip- 
hip-hip-hurrah  !" 

And  with  them  cheering  and  singing  thus,  the  Redbreast 
slipped  quietly  away. 

Major  Hardy  dropped  his  monocle  on  his  chest.  A  good 
voyage — a  jolly  voyage — was  over. 

And  now  a  little  motor-launch  puffed  alongside  to  collect  the 
Mudros  Details :  and  we  went  down  the  Rangoon's  hull  to  be 
ferried  ashore.  We  were  ferried,  as  you  shall  see,  out  of  our 
dazzling  news  of  the  campaign  into  the  darkness  of  collapsing 
things. 


Part  II:     The  White  Heights 

CHAPTER  VII 

MXTOROS,   IN   THE   ISLE  OF  LEMNOS 
§1 

THE  motor-launch  beat  away  from  the  Rangoon.  Monty, 
standing  in  the  stern,  Ut  a  pipe,  and  stared  over  the  match- 
flame  at  the  empty  troopship.  Jimmy  Doon,  sitting  in  the 
bows,  surveyed  the  hill-locked  harbour,  and  said  to  me : 

"Well,  there's  one  comfort :  we  shan't  be  killed  on  Gallipoli." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  we  shall  certainly  die  at  Mudros." 

Doe  was  brooding  over  the  ships  of  the  Navy  on  the  water, 
and  over  the  white  camps  of  the  Army  on  the  dull,  bleak 
hill-slopes. 

"I  didn't  know  there  were  so  many  ships  in  the  world," 
he  said. 

It  was  a  wonderful  revelation  of  sea  power.  There  were 
battleships,  heavy  and  squat ;  cruisers,  more  slender  and  grace- 
ful; low-lying  destroyers,  coal  black  or  silver  grey;  and  hos- 
pital ships,  which,  in  their  glistening  white  paint,  were  as 
much  more  lovely  than  the  men-of-war  as  ruth  is  more  lovely 
than  ruthlessness.  Our  little  launch  was  passing  heavy-gunned 
monitors;  skirting  round  submarines  that  lay  above  the  sur- 
face like  the  backs  of  whales;  and  panting  along  beneath 
the  enormous  Aquitania,  whose  funnels  appeared  to  reach  a 
higher  sky  than  the  surrounding  hills.  Flags  flew  every- 
where :  the  white  ensign  from  the  masts  of  the  Navy,  the  red 
ensign  from  the  troopers,  and  the  martial  tricolour  from  the 
vessels  of  the  Frenchmen. 

253 


254  Tell  England  book  n 

Jimmy  Doon  sighed  and  pointed  ashore.  "Look  at  the  un- 
seemly hospitals,"  he  said. 

As  he  spoke,  we  were  steering  towards  a  little  landing- jetty, 
called  the  "Egyptian  Pier/'  and  could  see  the  Red  Cross  float- 
ing over  the  camps. 

"Hospitals  at  Malta,"  groaned  Jimmy,  "hospitals  at  Alex- 
andria, hospital  ships  all  over  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
^gean — Ray,  it's  dangerous:  we'll  go  home." 

But,  instead,  we  stepped  ashore.  At  once  the  reflected  cool- 
ness of  the  water  deserted  us;  the  heady  heat  off  the  dusty 
land  hit  our  flesh  like  the  hot  air  from  an  oven;  and  a  glare 
from  the  white,  trampled  dust  and  the  white  canvas  tents 
troubled  our  eyes  and  set  our  temples  aching.  And  the  rolling 
hills,  empty  of  growth,  except  grass  burnt  brown  and  thistles 
burnt  yellow,  gave  us  a  shock  of  depression. 

"Damn,  oh  damn,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Precisely,"  agreed  Monty. 

We  walked  on,  till  we  reached  an  array  of  square  tents  that 
formed  No.  i6  Stationary  Hospital.  Here  pale  and  emaciated 
men  were  wandering  in  pyjamas  between  tents  marked  "Dys- 
entery," "Enteric,"  and  "Infectious  Wards." 

"Damn,"  repeated  Jimmy. 

Then  we  came  upon  a  barbed-wire  compound,  and,  caught 
by  the  morbid  fascination  of  all  prisons,  looked  in.  It  was 
full  of  sick  and  wounded  Turks,  who  lay  on  stretchers  in 
bell-tents,  and,  by  a  miserable  pantomime  of  raising  two  fingers 
to  their  lips  and  blowing  into  the  air,  besought  of  our  charity 
a  cigarette.  We  went  in,  and  handed  AbduUas  among  them. 
And  that — now  I  come  to  think  of  it — was  our  first  en- 
counter with  the  enemy  we  had  been  sent  to  fight. 

At  the  Rest  Camp  Doe  and  I  were  pushed  into  a  tent  that, 
insufficiently  supplied  with  pegs,  was  flapping  irritatingly  in 
a  rising  wind.  Sighing  for  the  cosy  cabins  of  the  Rangoon, 
we  tossed  off  our  equipment  on  to  the  earthy  floor  and  lounged 
into  the  mess  for  lunch.  In  the  mess  tent  we  sat  down  to 
trestle-tables,  laid  with  coarse  enamelled  plates  and  mugs. 

Monty  turned  to  Jimmy,  and  asked:  "What  was  that  re- 
mark you  made  just  now,  James  Doon?" 

"Damn,"  answered  Jimmy  with  great  readiness. 

"Thanks,"  said  Monty. 


PART  II      Mndros,  in  the  Isle  of  Lemnos  255 

After  lunch  there  came  to  Doe  and  myself  the  only  pleasing 
thing  in  a  day  of  gloom.  That  was  the  joy  of  dressing  up  in 
the  true  tropical  kit  worn  at  Mudros;  brown  brogue  shoes; 
pale  brown  stockings,  turned  down  at  the  calves ;  khaki  drill 
shorts,  displaying  bare  knees ;  khaki  shirts  open  at  the  throats, 
and  with  sleeves  rolled  up  above  white  elbows;  our  topees, 
and  no  more.  And,  since  we  were  sure  we  looked  very  nice, 
we  decided  to  walk  abroad  among  men.  Besides,  the  shame- 
ful whiteness  of  our  knees  and  forearms  must  be  browned 
at  once  by  a  walk  in  the  toasting  sun. 

We  set  off  for  the  village  of  Mudros  East.  It  proved  to 
be  a  collection  of  ramshackle  dwellings,  as  little  habitable  as 
English  cowhouses;  of  stores,  where  thieving  Greeks  sold 
groceries  to  the  soldiers;  and  of  taverns,  whose  vines  hung 
heavily  clustered  over  porch  and  window.  There  was  an 
ornate  and  lofty  Greek  Orthodox  Church,  and  a  little,  un- 
considered cemetery,  where  the  bones  of  the  dead  were  work- 
ing their  way  above  the  ground. 

In  the  streets  of  this  tumble-down  town  walked  every  type 
of  Gallipoli  campaigner:  British  Tommies,  grousing  and  cheer- 
ful; Australians,  remarkable  for  their  physique;  deep-brown 
Maoris;  bearded  Frenchmen  in  baggy  trousers;  shining  and 
grinning  African  negroes  from  French  colonies ;  stately  Sikhs ; 
charming  little  Gurkhas,  looking  like  chocolate  Japanese ;  Brit- 
ish Tars  in  their  white  drill ;  and  similarly  clad  sailors  of  Rus- 
sia, France  and  Greece. 

It  was  while  strolling  through  this  fancy-dress  fair  that 
we  suddenly  came  upon  the  camp  of  the  French,  and  were 
briskly  saluted  by  a  French  sentry.  We  returned  a  thrilling 
acknowledgment.  For  it  was  the  first  time  that  our  great 
Ally  had  greeted  our  advent  into  the  area  of  war. 

Lord!  how  the  wind  was  rising!  And  with  it  the  dust! 
The  grey  motor  ambulances,  as  they  purred  past  with  their" 
sick,  raised  dust  storms,  that  blew  away  over  the  roofs  in 
clouds  as  high  again  as  the  houses.  The  ships  and  the  har- 
bour, though  it  was  a  sunny,  cloudless  day,  could  only  be  seen 
through  a  flying  veil  of  dust.  Quickly  the  vines,  overhanging 
the  porches,  became  white  with  dust;  our  teeth  and  palates 
coated  with  it.  We  hastened  home  to  the  sorry  shelter  of  the 
mess  that  we  might  wash  the  dust  down  our  throats  with  tea. 


256  Tell  England  book  h 

But  bah !  we  went  out  of  the  dust  into  the  flies.  The  mess 
was  buzzing  with  them;  and  they  were  accompanied  in  their 
attacks  upon  our  persons  by  bees,  who  hummed  about  Hke  air- 
ships among  aeroplanes.  I  dropped  upon  the  table  a  speck  of 
Sir  Joseph  Paxton's  excellent  jam,  now  peppered  and  gritty  with 
dust,  and  in  a  few  seconds  it  was  hidden  by  a  scrimmage  of 
black  flies,  fighting  over  it  and  over  one  another.  Other  flies 
fell  into  my  tea,  and  did  the  breast-stroke  for  the  side  of  the 
mug.  I  pushed  the  mug  along  to  Jimmy  Doon,  and  pointed 
out  to  him,  with  the  conceit  of  the  expert,  that  they  were  mak- 
ing the  mistake  of  all  novices  at  swimming;  they  were  moving 
their  arms  and  legs  too  fast,  and  getting  no  motive  power  out 
of  their  leg-drive. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  'em,"  said  Jimmy.  "Fm  fast  going 
mad.  Fm  not  knocking  'em  off  my  jam,  but  swallowing  the 
little  devils  as  they  sit  there.  If  I  didn't  do  that,  they'd  commit 
suicide  down  my  throat.  Every  time  so  far  that  I've  opened 
my  mouth  to  inhale  the  breeze,  I've  taken  down  a  fly.  It's 
tedious." 

Ah !  this  wit  was  all  forced  gaiety,  and  the  more  depressing 
for  that.  It  generated  melancholy,  as  a  damp  fire  generates 
smoke.  I  felt  there  was  something  wrong  around  me  this 
afternoon — a  shadow  of  evil.  The  conversation  died:  only 
the  flies  buzzed  monotonously  over  us,  as  though  we  were 
oflfal  or  carrion;  and  the  wind  blew  the  dust  in  hail-storms 
against  the  canvas  walls  of  the  tent.  And  then  it  came — the 
terribly  evil  thing.  The  O.C.  Rest  Camp  entered  the  mess, 
and  announced  with  cynical  cheerfulness: 

'Well,  we've  lost  this  campaign.  The  great  new  landing 
at  Suvla  has  failed." 

There  was  a  ghastly  silence,  and  a  voice  muttered,  *'God!" 

*'Yes,  and  had  it  succeeded  we'd  have  won.    But  the  Turks 

have  got  us  held  at  Suvla  beneath  Sari  Bair,  same  as  they've 

got  us  held  at  Helles  beneath  Achi  Baba.    The  news  is  just 

filtering  through." 

With  horror  I  listened  to  the  cold-blooded  statement.  The 
shock  of  it  produced  a  beating  in  the  head,  and  a  sickness. 
And  I  felt  foolish,  as  though  I  might  do  something  lunatic, 
like  giving  a  witless  shout,  or  running  amok  with  a  table- 
knife.     I  touched  Doe,  and  whispered:     *T'm  going  to  get 


PART  11      Mudros,  in  the  Isle  of  Lemnos  257 

out  of  this.     The  old  fool  doesn't  know  what  he's  talking 
about.'' 

I  went  away,  and  flung  myself  down  on  my  vafise  in  my 
flapping  tent.  I  lay  on  my  back,  my  hands  clasped  behind 
my  head,  and  gazed  up  into  the  tent-roof  loud  with  flies. 
Suvla  had  failed !  It  was  a  lie — an  alarmist  lie !  Why,  only 
yesterday  we  had  exulted  in  it  as  the  winning  move,  declaring 
that  the  game  was  over  bar  shouting,  and  regretting  that  we 
could  not  be  in  at  the  death.  What  was  it  reminding  me  of 
—this  sudden  "black-out,"  just  as  the  lights  had  been  bright- 
est? Ah,  I  had  it:  that  moment,  when,  in  the  flush  of  win- 
ning the  Swimming  Cup  for  Bramhall,  I  learned  that  I  had 
lost  it.  How  similar  this  was!  Then  the  prize  had  been  a 
silver  cup,  which  had  been  fought  for  by  a  parcel  of  school- 
boys. Now  the  grander  trophy  was  that  silver  strip  of  the 
Dardanelles  which  men  called  *'the  Narrows,"  and  the  com- 
batants were  a  pack  of  nations. 

"Suvla  had  failed!  Why  was  I  identifying  my  tiny  self 
with  a  huge  thing  like  Britain,  and  feeling  that,  because  she 
had  failed  in  her  great  fight  for  the  Dardanelles,  so  I  would 
fail,  and  purposely,  in  my  little  struggle  after  moral  beauty? 
What  a  fool  I  was — ^but  that  was  how  it  was  working  out. 
Beauty  be  hanged!  Monty  was  badly  wrong  in  proclaiming 
that  nature  was  chiefly  beautiful,  and  life  on  the  whole  was 
good.  And,  if  he  were  wrong,  why,  then  there  was  no  further 
need  to  toil  after  a  beauty  of  character  to  match  the  beauty 
of  seas  and  hills.  Good  heavens!  Beauty  in  the  Mudros 
Hills!  They  were  but  homes  of  thirsty  grass  and  dying 
thistles,  dust  and  torturing  flies.  These  ideals  of  Monty's 
were  vapoury.  Why  not  throw  them  up — throw  up  moral 
effort?    I  would.    There  was  not  more  beauty 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Monty  himself  stood  in  the 
tent  door. 

"Down,  Rupert?"  he  asked.    "What's  the  matter?" 

I  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  saw  in  them  that  inquiring 
sympathy  which  could  so  quickly  transfigure  him  from  a 
lively  friend  into  a  gentle  priest. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  I  said.  I  was  in  no  mood  just  now  to  tell 
him  anything.    "Bored,  that's  all." 

And  then  I  looked  round,  and  noticed  tfiat  the  tent  was 


258  Tell  England  book  h 

full  of  a  violet  light.    It  was  as  if  limelight  had  been  turned 
on  from  behind  a  violet  glass. 

"Good  Lord!"  I  exclaimed.     "The  air's  all  coloured!" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  was  coming  to  tell  you  to  look  at  the 
sunset.    It's  bad  old  Mudros's  one  good  deed." 

Out  to  the  tent  door  I  went,  and  looked  over  the  harbour 
to  the  western  shores.  And  there,  very  rapidly,  the  ball  of 
the  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  hills  with  an  affair  of 
gold  and  crimson  lights,  while  all  the  hills  were  violet.  The 
colour  was  so  strong  that  it  came  out  and  flushed  with  violet 
the  black  hulls  of  the  ships.  And  they,  strangely  motionless, 
lay  mirrored  in  a  water  of  white  and  gold. 

"Listen!"  said  Monty. 

For  from  all  the  camps  the  British  bugles  were  singing  the 
sad  call  of  "Retreat";  the  French  trumpets  wailing  "Sun- 
down," and  their  rifles  firing  a  rapid  fusillade  to  speed  the 
departing  day.  Meanwhile  the  heat  had  died  into  a  refreshing 
coolness;  the  wind  had  dropped,  leaving  the  dust  undisturbed 
on  the  ground;  and  the  flies  were  roosting  in  the  tops  of  the 
tents. 

Very  soon  it  was  quite  dark.  Then  everything  lit  up: 
first,  the  camps  on  the  hills,  their  innumerable  hurricane- 
lamps  resembling  the  lights  of  great  cities;  then,  the  vessels 
in  the  bay — and,  in  the  quiet  of  the  windless  evening,  their 
bells,  telling  the  hour,  came  clearly  over  the  water.  The  long 
hulls  of  the  hospital  ships  marked  themselves  off  by  rows  of 
green  lights  and  large,  luminous  red .  crosses.  Reflected  in 
the  still  water,  they  gave  to  the  basin  the  appearance  of  a 
pleasure  lake,  gay  with  red  and  green  fairy  lamps.  The  battle- 
ships hid  their  bellicose  features  in  the  darkness,  and,  since 
one  or  two  of  them  had  their  bands  playing,  might  have  been 
pleasure  steamers.  And  from  an  Indian  encampment  behind 
us  came  a  weird  incantation  and  the  steady  beat  of  the  tom- 
tom. 

Somehow,  in  the  beauty  of  the  Mudros  night,  I  felt  a  spring 
of  new  hope  in  our  campaign.  We  would  win  in  the  end. 
And  with  this  re-born  confidence  went  nobler  resolutions  for 
myself.  To-morrow  I  would  resume  moral  effort.  To-mor- 
row I  would  begin  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  GREEN   ROOM 

THE  story  of  our  two-months'  delay  at  Mudros  is  largely 
the  story  of  Monty's  eccentricities.  As  for  Doe  and  my- 
self, we  just  watched  with  growing  pride  our  knees  burning 
in  the  sun  to  a  Maori  brown.  When  we  bathed  in  the  bay  and 
saw  that,  while  our  bodies  as  a  whole  were  a  pale  English 
pink,  our  elbows,  knees  and  necks,  that  were  daily  exposed  to 
the  sun,  were  turning  to  this  beautiful  tint,  we  would  place 
our  limbs  side  by  side  to  see  which  of  us  achieved  the  greater 
depth  of  colour.    For  this  we  drew  our  pay. 

Jimmy  Doon  received  early  his  orders  to  join  his  regiment 
on  the  Peninsula.  He  left  us,  declaring  that  he  only  contem- 
plated paying  a  flying  visit  to  the  front,  as  the  very  sound  of 
the  guns  convinced  him  that  he  was  a  civilian  at  heart  He 
would  be  back  soon,  he  said. 

Monty  appointed  himself  Chaplain  to  No.  i6  Stationary 
Hospital,  and  set  to  work.  And  during  this  period  at  Mudros 
he  was  just  about  as  regrettable  and  impossible  in  his  behaviour 
as  I  have  ever  known  him.  He  procured  a  gramophone,  and, 
touring  the  tents,  in  which  the  sick  men  lay,  would  set  the 
atrocious  instrument  playing,  "Kitty,  Kitty,  isn't  it  a  pity  in 
the  city  you  work  so  hard?"  The  invalids  loved  the  jingling 
refrain,  and  added  to  the  plagues  of  Mudros  by  roaring  its 
chorus.  Then  Monty  would  return  in  the  worst  of  tempers 
to  our  tent,  and,  putting  the  instrument  roughly  away,  sit 
down  and  look  miserable.  H  Doe  asked  permission  to  feel 
his  pulse  or  see  his  tongue,  he  would  shut  him  up  with  the 
words,  "Oh,  stuff!"  But  once  he  laughed  sarcastically  and 
burst,  with  all  the  Monty  enthusiasm  and  emphasis,  into  a 
diatribe  Against  Broad  Churchmanship,  the  ignorance  of  lay- 
men,  the  timidity   of   the   clergy,   wishy-washy   sermons — in 

259 


260  Tell  England  book  n 

short,  the  criminal  lack  of  dogmatic  teaching.  Not  seeing  any 
connexion  between  dogmatic  teaching  and  a  gramophone,  Doe 
looked  so  amazed  that  Monty  laughed,  and  grumbled: 

"It's  fine  priestly  work  Tm  doing  for  these  lads,  isn't  it? 
Work  any  hospital  orderly  could  do.  I  ought  to  be  hearing 
their  confessions,  and  saying  Mass  for  them.  Instead  I  play 
them  *Kitty,  Kitty,  isn't  it  a  pity — ?'  But  they  don't  under- 
stand— they  don't  understand." 

"But,  gracious  heavens,"  said  Doe,  "you  can't  be  always 
doing  priestly  work.  And  we  know  to  our  sorrow  that  you 
do  have  sing-song  services  sometimes.  Why,  last  night  you 
had  at  least  a  couple  of  hundred  bawling  hymns  at  the  tops 
of  their  voices,  and  making  the  night  hideous.  Wasn't  that 
priestly  enough?" 

"No,"  he  snapped.  "It  was  a  service  any  layman  or  hot- 
gospeller  could  hold.  There  they  were — a  mass  of  bonny  lads, 
all  calling  themselves  'C.  of  E.,'  and  none  of  them  knowing 
anything  about  the  Mass  or  confession.  Ah,  they  don't  under- 
stand. It  breaks  my  heart,  Rupert.  All  sons  of  the  Church; 
and  they  don't  know  the  lines  of  their  mother's  face !" 

"Well,  why  on  earth,"  said  Doe,  impatiently,  "do  you  run 
your  beastly  gramophone  and  your  rousing  services,  if  they're 
not  your  proper  work?" 

"Why,  don't  you  see?"  murmured  Monty,  turning  away 
to  watch  the  sun  setting  behind  a  sweep  of  violet  hills,  "I 
must  pull  my  weight.  I  can  feel  patriotic  at  times.  And,  if 
I  can't  be  a  priest  to  the  big  majority ,^  I  can  at  least  be  their 
pal.  That's  how  a  padre's  work  pans  out:  a  priest  to  the  tiny 
few,  and  a  pal  to  the  big  majority.  I  suppose  it's  something. 
Perhaps  it's  something." 

§2 

It  was  Monty  who  first  called  Mudros,  "The  Green  Room." 
The  name  was  happily  chosen,  for  here  at  Mudros  the  actors 
either  prepared  for  their  entry  on  the  Gallipoli  stage,  or  re- 
turned for  a  breather,  till  the  call-boy  should  summon  them 
again.  In  it,  after  the  manner  of  green  rooms,  we  discussed 
how  the  show  in  the  limelight  was  going.  We  saw  much  that 
made  us  gossip. 


PART  II  The  Green  Room  261 

We  saw  the  huge  black  transports  bear  into  Mudros  Bay. 
Many  were  ships  that  were  the  pride  of  this  watery  planet. 
Like  a  duchess  sailing  into  a  ball-room  came  the  Mauretania, 
making  the  mere  professional  warships  and  the  common  mer- 
chantmen look  very  small  indeed.  But  even  she,  haughty 
lady,  was  put  in  the  shade,  when  her  young  but  gargantuan 
sister,  the  Aquitania,  floating  leisurely  between  the  booms, 
claimed  the  attention  of  the  harbour,  and  reduced  us  all  to  a 
state  of  grovelling  homage.  And  then  the  Olympic,  not  to 
be  outdone  by  these  overrated  Cunarders,  would  join  the 
company  with  her  nose  in  the  air. 

They  were  packed  with  yellow-clad  and  helmeted  soldiers, 
who  were  as  noisy  about  their  entrance  as  the  great  ships  were 
silent.  Tommy,  coming  into  harbour  at  the  end  of  a  voyage, 
had  a  habit  of  announcing  his  approach.  So,  when  we  on 
the  land  heard  over  the  water  shouting,  singing,  genial  oaths, 
"How-d'ye-do's,''  and  "What-ho's";  and  such  advices  as 
"Cheerioh!  The  Cheshires  are  here!"  'We'll  open  them 
Narrows  for  you";  "Here  we  are,  here  we  are,  here  we  are 
again,"  or  the  simple  statement  "We've  coom!"  we  left  our 
tents,  and  just  went  into  our  field-glasses,  as  one  goes  into 
a  theatre. 

The  men  in  the  transports  were  delayed  a  night  in  the 
harbour,  and  on  the  following  day  disgorged  into  the  floating 
omnibuses  that  plied  nightly  to  Suvla  or  Helles.  These  omni- 
buses were  old  Isle  of  Man  passenger  steamers,  jolly  old 
tubs,  doing  their  bit  like  papa  and  uncle  and  grandad  in  the 
National  Guard  at  home.  Being  due  to  arrive  with  their 
crowds  of  fighting  men  at  the  Peninsula  in  the  darkness  of 
midnight,  they  would  get  under  way  just  before  dusk.  They 
went  out  with  the  sun,  travelling  straight  and  slowly  between 
the  hulls. 

To  the  lads,  thus  being  drawn  to  the  danger-zone,  a  send- 
off  would  be  given  in  salvos  of  cheers  from  the  sides  of  the 
anchored  vessels,  the  bands  of  the  Navy  sometimes  playing 
them  out  with  the  old  airs  of  England.  And  the  lads  them- 
selves, enjoying  their  evanescent  triumph,  and  feeling  like 
the  applauded  heroes  on  a  carnival  car,  would  shout  back  a 
merry  response,  or  pick  up  the  chorus  of  the  tune  rendered  by 
the  distant  band. 


262  Tell  England  book  h 

Many  a  still  evening  Doe  and  I  watched  their  departure, 
knowing  that  soon  we  should  go  out  of  the  port  like  that  in 
the  red  of  a  sunset.  And  Monty,  hearing  the  cries  of  "Good 
Luck,''  ''Love  to  Johnny  Turk,"  'Tinish  it  off  quickly,"  "Hi, 
put  yer  trust  in  Gawd,  and  keep  your  'ead  down,"  and  the 
faint  strains  of  "Steady,  boys,  steady,  we'll  fight  and  we'll 
conquer  again  and  again,"  would  bewail  the  fact  that  he  was 
too  far  off  to  cheer,  and  give  vent  to  rising  and  choking  feel- 
ings. He  wanted  to  pat  these  departing  lads  on  the  back. 
For  in  the  Green  Room  they  had  dressed  for  their  parts,  and 
were  now  going  through  the  door  on  their  way  to  the  stage. 


§3 

Were  we  really  winning  on  the  Peninsula  or  losing?  Au- 
gust, in  spite  of  that  black  remark  of  the  O.C.  Rest  Camp, 
decided  that  all  was  well.  The  fresh  arrivals  on  the  troop- 
ships brought  with  them  like  a  breeze  from  the  homeland  that 
atmosphere  of  glowing  optimisim  which  prevailed  in  Eng- 
land in  the  early  August  days.  The  same  news  came  from 
the  opposite  direction.  For  the  streams  of  wounded,  who  in 
the  weeks  following  the  Suvla  invasion  poured  into  our  Mudros 
hospitals,  told  us  that  the  Turk  was  fairly  on  the  run.  "It 
can't  last  long,"  they  said.  "We've  only  to  climb  one  of 
them  two  hills — either  Sari  Bair  on  the  Suvla  front,  or  old 
Achi  Baba  at  Helles — ^and  the  trick's  done.  From  the  top 
of  either  of  'em  we  shall  look  down  upon  the  Narrows,  and 
blow  their  forts  to  glory.  Up'll  go  the  Navy,  and  there  y'are !" 
It  would  be  over  by  Christmas,  they  believed;  for  Christmas 
was  always  the  pivot  of  Tommy's  time. 

So  spoke  August,  drinking  deep  from  cups  overflowing 
with  confidence.  September  detected  a  taste  of  doubt  in  the 
cheery  optimism  of  the  Green  Room,  and  like  a  loyal  British 
September,  spat  out  the  unpalatable  mouthful.  But  the  taste 
remained. 

Nothing  but  stagnation  seemed  to  be  prevailing  on  the 
Peninsula.  The  incessant  roll  of  guns  could  no  longer  be 
heard  at  Mudros.  The  old-time  shifts  of  wounded  ceased  to 
pour  into  our  hospitals.    In  their  stead  came  daily  crowds  of 


PART   II 


The  Green  Room  263 


dysentery,  jaundice  and  septic  cases.  And  these  men  told 
a  different  tale  from  the  wounded,  who,  a  month  before,  had 
returned  from  the  stage  like  actors  aglow  with  triumph.  All 
reported  "Nothing  doing"  on  Gallipoli. 

And  the  Big  Rains  were  fast  drawing  due.  The  time  was 
at  hand  when  the  ravines  and  gorges  that  cracked  and  spliced 
the  Mudros  Hills  would  roar  to  the  torrents,  and  the  hard, 
dust-strewn  earth  would  become  acres  of  mud,  from  which 
our  tent-pegs  would  be  drawn  like  pins  out  of  butter.  We 
remembered  Elijah  on  Mount  Carmel,  and  looked  at  the  sky 
for  rain. 

But  we  looked  in  alarm  and  not  hope.  For,  if  the  Narrows 
were  not  forced  before  the  rains  and  sea-storms  began,  the 
campaign,  we  understood,  would  be  doomed  to  disaster.  The 
rain  would  turn  our  great  Intermediate  Base,  Mudros,  into  a 
useless  lagoon,  and  the  sea-storms  would  beat  on  the  beaches 
of  the  Peninsula,  smash  the  frail  jetties  built  at  Suvla  and 
Helles,  and,  by  preventing  the  landing  of  supplies,  condemn 
the  Suvla  army  and  the  Helles  army  to  annihilation  or  sur- 
render. 

''Surely,  oh  surely,"  said  Monty,  looking  up  one  day  at 
a  cloudy  sky,  "something  largely  conceived  will  be  attempted 
before  the  rains  work  havoc  among  the  communications  on 
land,  and  the  storms  slash  at  the  communications  by  sea. 
We  must  be  going  to  win." 

"O  Lord,  yes,"  echoed  I. 

But  September  with  its  dry  weather  began  to  wane,  the 
rains  started  a  plaguy  pelting,  and  the  winds  commenced  to 
excite  the  placid  ^gean,  while  we  still  awaited  big  move- 
ments and  final  things. 


§4 

Then  the  evil  Peninsula  sent  straight  to  Monty's  feet  some- 
thing that  seemed  like  a  direct  message  of  scornful  warning 
to  our  little  Rangoon  group.  It  was  such  a  message  as  de- 
fiant kings  have  sent  to  banter  those  who  contemplated  an 
invasion  of  their  realms.    This  is  how  it  came. 

Day  after  day  (you  must  know)  in  the  early  morning,  the 


264  Tell  England  book  n 

dead,  sewn  up  in  their  blankets,  were  landed  from  the  ships 
that  had  picked  them  up  in  a  dying  condition  at  Suvla  and 
Helles.  They  were  laid  in  rows  on  the  little  landing- jetty, 
the  "Egyptian  Pier."  After  awhile  the  men  would  put  them 
by  in  a  mortuary  tent,  where  they  rested  till  the  evening,  when 
a  G.S.  waggon  conveyed  them  to  the  cemetery. 

Generally  Monty,  whose  duty  it  was  to  bury  them,  would 
sit  on  the  driver's  seat  and  ride  to  the  cemetery,  after  per- 
suading Doe  and  me  to  ride  with  him. 

On  a  certain  September  evening  Monty  glanced  at  the 
Camp  Commandant's  "chit,"  and  read  it  aloud  to  us:  "  *Seven 
bodies  for  burial  at  1700/     Are  you  coming?" 

Doe  turned  towards  me.     "Coming,  Rupert?" 

"No.    I'm  too  tired." 

"Oh,  rot,  you  scrimshanker.  You've  been  hogging  it  all 
the  afternoon." 

"Yes,  come  on,"  said  Monty.    "We'll  drive  on  the  waggon." 

The  G.S.  waggon  with  its  seven  blanketed  forms  was  out- 
side waiting  for  Monty.  It  was  drawn  by  two  teams  of  mules 
with  mounted  drivers.  The  driver's  seat  was  therefore 
vacant,  and  on  to  it  Monty,  Doe  and  I  climbed.  The  waggon 
started,  as  Monty  whispered :  "It's  rather  like  the  Dead  Cart 
in  the  days  of  the  Great  Plague,  isn't  it?"  We  never  spoke 
loud  with  that  load  behind  us. 

The  waggon  jolted  along  the  straight  white  road  to  the 
cemetery,  which  was  a  little  dusty  acre  on  a  plain  between 
the  hills.  We  halted  at  the  gate,  and  Monty,  getting  down 
from  his  seat,  robed  by  the  front  wheels.  And,  when  the 
seven  bodies  had  been  removed  in  their  stretchers  from  the 
waggon  and  laid  in  a  line  upon  the  road,  the  corporal  of  the 
Burial  Party  saluted  Monty,  and  said: 

"One's  an  officer,  sir.    Will  you  take  him  first?" 

"I'll  go  in  front,"  answered  Monty.  "Then  the  seven  bodies, 
one  after  another,  the  officer's  body  leading.  Feet  first,  of 
course." 

"Very  good,  sir."  The  corporal,  seeing  that  the  bearers 
stood  ready  at  the  head  and  foot  of  each  stretcher,  said  quietly : 

"Bearers,  raise!" 

All  the  bearers  bent  in  simultaneous  motion,  and  lifted  the 
stretchers  from  the  road. 


PART  II  The  Green  Boom  265 

"Slow— march  !^' 

The  procession  moved  off,  Monty  in  front  picking  his  way 
between  the  graves  towards  those  open  to  receive  the  day's 
dead.  The  Greek  grave-diggers  rested  on  their  spades,  and 
bared  their  heads.  Some  stray  French  soldiers  sprang  to 
attention,  and  saluted.  A  few  curious  British  and  a  tall  brown 
Sikh  copied  the  Frenchmen,  remaining  at  the  salute  till  the 
procession  had  passed.  And,  when  the  open  graves  were 
reached,  all  these  stragglers  gathered  round  to  form  a  little 
company  of  mourners. 

Having  seen  the  bodies  laid  by  the  graves,  the  corporal 
bent  over  the  form  of  the  dead  officer,  and  removed  from  his 
breast  that  small  piece  of  paper,  which  was  always  pinned  to 
the  blanket  to  state  the  man's  identity :  in  this  case  it  happened 
to  be  a  government  envelope,  marked  *'On  His  Majesty's 
Service."     The  corporal  handed  it  to  Monty. 

I  recall  the  moment  of  his  action  as  the  last  quiet  moment 
before  an  unexpected  shock.  I  seem  to  remember  that  it  was 
a  very  graceful  body,  long  and  shapely,  that  lay  there,  outlined 
beneath  the  tightly-wrapped  blanket.  It  looked  like  an  em- 
balmed Egyptian. 

Monty  read  the  envelope,  and  frowned.  He  read  it  again, 
crumpled  it  up,  and  looked  down  at  the  long,  slender  form 
of  the  dead  officer.  Then,  glancing  round  for  Doe  and  me,  and 
catching  our  eyes,  as  we  watched  him  in  curiosity,  he  handed 
the  envelope  to  us.  We  smoothed  out  its  crumpled  folds,  and 
read:     "On  His  Majesty's  Service.     Lieut.  James  Doon." 

This  was  the  message  that  the  Peninsula  had  contemptu- 
ously tossed  to  us. 

Monty  began  the  service,  but  I  scarcely  heard  him.  I 
was  staring  at  the  blanketed  form,  and  thinking  of  Jimmy  as 
he  had  been:  Jimmy  with  all  his  bitter  jests  about  death; 
Jimmy  grumbling  on  the  Rangoon  because  he  would  have  to 
stay  at  Mudros  **till  the  end  of  the  world";  Jimmy  leaving 
for  the  Peninsula  with  the  words  that  he  would  be  back  soon, 
I  thought  how  strange  it  was  that  we  should  have  been  sit- 
ting on  that  G.S.  waggon,  without  knowing  that  we  were 
taking  a  last  ride  with  Jimmy  Doon.  I  pictured  again  Jimmy 
being  borne  into  the  cemetery,  feet  first,  at  the  head  of  his 
six  dead  men. 


266  Tell  England  book  h 

"Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman "  Monty  was  saying, 

and,  as  the  words  fell,  the  bearers  raised  with  ropes  the  corpse 
from  off  its  stretcher,  and  began  to  lower  it  into  the  grave. 

"Earth  to  earth,   ashes  to  ashes,   dust  to   dust "     At 

this  point  the  kindly  French  and  British  onlookers  and  the 
tall  brown  Sikh  picked  up  their  handfuls  of  earth,  and  threw 
them  upon  the  body  as  their  compliment  to  the  dead. 

The  sight  of  Jimmy  going  down  into  his  grave  on  the 
lengthening  ropes  started  in  me  a  real  grief,  and,  when  the 
strangers  paid  their  simple  respect  to  the  unknown  dead,  I 
felt  momentarily  stricken,  and  shivered  with  pride  that  I 
had  known  him  whom  they  thus  honoured.  But  all  this  passed 
away,  and  left  a  dull  indifference.  The  war  was  fast  teach- 
ing me  its  petrifying  lesson — to  be  incapable  of  horror.  I 
tried  to  recover  my  sorrow,  thinking  that  I  ought  to  do  so, 
but  I  could  feel  no  emotion  at  all.  "This  sort  of  thing,"  ran 
my  thoughts,  "seems  to  be  the  order  of  the  day  for  the  gen- 
eration in  which  we  were  born.  It's  all  very  fine,  or  all  very 
unfair.  I  don't  know.  The  old  Colonel  and  Monty  said  it 
was  very  glorious,  so  no  doubt  it  must  be.  But,  whatever  it  is, 
we're  all  in  it.    Poor  old  Jimmy." 

So  I  fell  into  a  mood  that  was  partly  the  resignation  of 
perplexity,  partly  a  sulkiness  with  fate.  With  the  same 
blunted  mind,  perceiving  no  pain,  I  watched  the  Greek  dig- 
gers, at  the  end  of  the  service,  as  they  began  to  shovel  the 
earth  on  to  my  friend's  body.  First  they  tossed  it  so  that 
it  fell  in  a  little  pile  on  his  breast ;  then  they  threw  it,  dust 
and  clods,  over  his  feet,  till  at  last  only  the  head,  hooded  in 
its  blanket,  was  uncovered.  They  turned  their  attention  to 
that,  and  the  earth  fell  heavily  on  Jimmy  Doon's  face.  I 
turned  unfeelingly  away. 

Poor  Jimmy,  a  mere  super  in  the  Gallipoli  drama,  had 
played  his  trifling  part  on  the  stage,  and  was  now  sleeping  in 
the  Green  Room. 

Was  it  all  very  fine,  or  all  very  unfair?  In  my  tent  that 
evening  I  worried  the  problem  out.  At  first  it  seemed  only 
sordid  that  James  Doon  should  have  his  gracious  body  re- 
turned by  that  foul  Peninsula,  like  some  empty  crate  for 
which  it  had  no  further  use,  to  be  buried  without  firing  party, 
drums  or  bugles.    But  every  now  and  then  I  caught  a  glimpse 


PART    U 


The  Green  Room  267 


of  my  mistake.  I  was  thinking  in  terms  of  matter  instead 
of  in  terms  of  spiritual  realities.  I  must  try  to  get  the  poetic 
gift  of  the  old  Colonel  and  Monty,  whose  thoughts  did  not 
prison  themselves  in  flesh  but  travelled  easily  in  the  upper 
air  of  abstract  ideals  like  glory  and  beauty  and  truth.  But 
it  was  difficult.  Only  in  my  exalted  moments  could  I  breathe 
in  that  high  air. 

And  I  could  not  climb  to-night.  Perhaps  if  they  had  but 
sounded  the  "Last  Post"  at  Jimmy's  burial,  I  should  have 
lost  sight  of  its  grossness  and  caught  the  vision  of  its  glory. 
I  was  wondering  if  this  would  have  unveiled  the  hidden  beauty, 
when,  very  strangely,  the  bugles  in  all  the  camps  rang  out  with 
the  great  call.  It  was  dark,  and  they  were  sounding  the  "Last 
Post"  over  the  close  of  the  day's  work.  But  for  those  who 
preferred  to  think  so,  it  was  blown  over  the  day's  dead. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PROCEEDING   FORTHWITH    TO   GALLIPOU 
§   I 

LOOK  here,  Doe,"  said  I,  with  my  finger  on  a  map  of  the 
Island  of  Lemnos.  "If  youVe  guts  enough  to  walk  with 
me  over  these  five  miles  of  hills  to  this  eastern  coast,  it  strikes 
me  we  shall  actually  see  a  distant  vision  of  the  Peninsula 
itself." 

Doe  looked  learnedly  at  the  map. 

"With  a  clear  sky  and  field-glasses  we  might  make  out  the 
fatal  old  spot,"  said  he.    "Come  on — we'll  try." 

So  we  turned  our  faces  eastward  through  the  afternoon, 
unaware  that  we  were  about  to  take  a  last  bird's-eye  view 
of  the  great  Naval  and  Military  Base  of  Mudros,  and  a  first 
peep  at  the  Gallipoli  Peninsula,  where  in  less  than  a  hundred 
hours  we  should  be  digging  ourselves  a  home. 

We  bent  our  backs  to  the  task  of  toiling  up  the  hillsides. 
We  found  the  slopes  carpeted  with  dry  grass  and  yellow 
thistles,  and  sprinkled  with  loose  stones  and  large  lumps  of 
rock.  Long-haired  sheep  with  bells  a-tinkle,  sleepy  black 
cows,  and  tiny  mules  browsed  among  the  arid  thistles,  or 
scratched  their  backs  against  the  broken  rocks. 

Down  into  the  valleys  we  went,  and  up  and  over  the  sum- 
mits. It  was  dull  prose  in  the  valleys,  but  fine  poetry  on  the 
summits.  For,  whereas  in  the  valleys  we  saw  nothing  but 
thistles  and  stones,  on  the  summits  we  enjoyed  extensive 
views  of  lap-Hke  hollows  nursing  little  white  villages;  we 
caught  distant  specks,  brilliantly  lighted  in  the  sun,  of  the 
encircling  sea;  and  we  wondered  at  the  blood-coloured  rocks 
which  suggested  volcanic  disturbances  and  lava  streams. 

After  dipping  into  several  depressions  and  surmounting 
several  yokes,  we  suddenly  overtopped  the  last  ridge  and 
looked  down  upon  a  tableland,  which  bore,  like  a  tray  of  tea- 

268 


PART  II       Proceeding  Forthwith  to  Gallipoli       269 

things,  the  white  buildings  of  a  little  village.  The  plateau 
was  the  edge  of  Lemnos,  and  ran  to  the  brink  of  a  jagged 
cliff.    Beyond  lay  the  empty  waters. 

"Look,"  said  Doe,  a  little  dreamily ;  "now  we  shall  see  what 
we  shall  see.'' 

We  lay  down  on  the  cliff-edge  in  the  attitude  of  the  sphinx, 
and  brought  our  powerful  field-glasses  into  play.  And  through 
them  we  saw,  in  the  far-off  haze,  things  that  accelerated  the 
beating  of  our  hearts. 

There,  right  away  across  forty  miles  of  blue  w^gean,  was 
a  vague,  grey  line  of  land.  It  was  broken  in  the  middle  as 
if  it  opened  a  channel  to  let  the  sea  through.  The  grey  land, 
west  of  the  break,  was  the  end  of  Europe,  the  sinister  Pen- 
insula of  Gallipoli.  The  break  itself,  bathed  in  a  gentle  mist, 
was  the  deadly  opening  to  the  Dardanelles.  Presumably, 
one  of  those  hill-tops,  just  visible,  was  old  Achi  Baba,  which 
had  defeated  the  invaders  of  Helles;  and  another,  Sari  Bair, 
beneath  which  lay  the  invaders  of  Suvla,  wondering  if  they, 
too,  had  been  beaten  by  a  paltry  hill. 

The  entrancing  sight  was  bound  to  work  upon  Doe's  na- 
ture.   Still  looking  through  his  glasses,  he  asked : 

"I  say,  Roop,  what's  the  most  appealing  name  that  the 
War  has  given  to  the  history  of  Britain — Mons,  or  Ypres,  or 
Coronel,  or  what?" 

"Gallipoli,"  I  replied,  knowing  this  was  the  answer  he 
wanted. 

"Just  so.    And  shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

"Yes,  thanks.     If  you'll  be  so  obliging." 

"Well,  it's  because  the  strongest  appeal  that  can  be  ad- 
dressed to  the  emotional  qualities  of  humanity  is  made  by 
the  power  called  Pathos " 

"Good  heavens!"  I  began. 

"And  there,  my  boy,"  pursued  Doe,  "in  picture-form  be- 
fore you,  this  humid  afternoon,  is  the  answer  to  your  ques- 
tion." 

"But  It  was  your  question,"  I  suggested. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Rupert.    Ask  me  what  I  mean." 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  this:  that  the  romantic  genius  of  Britain  is  be- 
ginning to  see  the  contour  of  Gallipoli  invested  with  a  mist  of 


270  Tell  England  book  n 

sadness,  and  presenting  an  appearance  like  a  mirage  of  lost 
illusions/' 

I  told  him  that  he  was  very  poetical  this  afternoon,  where- 
upon he  sat  up  and,  having  put  his  field-glasses  in  their  case, 
made  this  irrelevant  remark: 

"Do  you  remember  the  central  tower  of  Truro  Cathedral, 
near  my  home?'' 

"Yes." 

"Well,  do  you  think  it's  anything  like  a  lily?  For  mercy's 
sake  say  it  is." 

"Why?"  I  demanded. 

"And  it  does  change  colour  in  the  changing  light,  doesn't 
it,  Rupert  ?    Say  *Yes,'  you  fool — say  'Yes.'  " 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  because  I've  written — I've  written  some  verses  about 
it — when  I  was  a  bit  homesick,  I  s'pose — and  I'd  like  you  to 
tell " 

"Hand  them  over,"  sighed  I. 

"I  will,  since  you're  so  pressing.  They're  in  the  Edgar  Doe 
stanza." 

Doe  gave  me  a  soiled  piece  of  paper,  and  watched  me 
breathlessly.    I  read: 

TRURO  TOWER 

Stone  lily,  white  against  the  clouds  unfurled 

To  mantle  skies 

Where  thunder  lies, 
White  as  a  virtue  in  a  vicious  world. 
Give  to  me,  like  the  praying  of  a  friend. 
White  hope,  white  courage,  where  the  war-clouds  blend. 

Stone  lily,  coloured  now  in  sunny  chrome, 

Or  washed  with  rose, 

As  long  days  close. 
And  weary  English  suns  go  westering  home. 
Look  East,  and  hither,  where  there  turns  to  rest 
A  homing  heart  that  beats  an  English  breast. 

Stone  lily,  first  to  catch  the  shaft  of  day, 

And  first  to  wake 

For  dawns  that  break 
While  lower  things  are  steeped  in  gloaming  grey, 
Over  my  banks  of  twilight  look  and  see 
The  breezy  morn  that  fills  my  sails  for  thee. 


PART  II       Proceeding  Forthwith  to  Gcdlipoli       271 

"Oh,  youVe  felt  like  that,  have  you?"  said  I.  "SoVe  I. 
Your  poem  exactly  expresses  my  feeling,  so  it  must  be  abso- 
lutely IT." 

**Rupert,  you  ripping  old  liar!"  answered  Doe,  aglow  with 
pleasure. 

"No,  I  mean  it;  honestly  I  do." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Doe,  getting  up  and  brushing  thistles 
off  his  uniform,  "don't  you  think  that  now,  as  'this  long  day's 
closing,'  it's  time  we  two  *weary  English  sons  go  west'ring 
home'?" 

I  assured  him  that  this  was  not  only  vulgar  but  also  void  of 
wit ;  and  he  sulked,  while  we  turned  our  faces  to  the  w^est  and 
retraced  our  former  path.  Once  again  the  summits  of  the 
hills,  as  we  stepped  upon  them,  showed  us  the  lofty  grandeur 
of  the  ^gean  world.  We  halted  to  examine  the  wonderful 
sight  that  loomed  in  the  sky-spaces  to  the  north  of  Lemnos. 
This  was  the  huge  brows,  fronting  the  clouds,  of  the  Island  of 
Samothrace.  To  me  they  appeared  as  one  long  precipice,  from 
whose  top  frivolous  people  (such  as  Edgar  Doe)  could  tickle 
the  stars. 

"St.  Paul  left  Troas,"  ventured  I,  "and  came  with  a  straight 
course  to  Samothrace,"  a  little  blossom  of  news  which  angered 
Doe,  because  he  had  not  thought  of  it  first.  So,  after  deliberate 
brain-racking,  he  went  one  better  with  the  information : 

"The  great  Greek  god,  Poseidon,  sat  on  Samothrace,  and 
watched  the  Siege  of  Troy.  It  looks  like  the  throne  of  a  god, 
doesn't  it?  I  wonder  if  the  old  boy's  sitting  there  now,  watch- 
ing the  fight  for  the  Dardanelles." 

As  he  spoke  the  sun  was  falling  behind  the  peaks  of  Lemnos 
and  nearing  the  Greek  mainland,  which  revealed  itself,  through 
the  evening  light,  in  the  splendid  conical  point  of  Mount  Athos. 
And,  at  our  feet,  the  loose  stones  and  broken  rocks  had  assumed 
a  pink  tint  on  their  facets  that  looked  towards  the  setting  sun. 
The  browsing  sheep,  too,  had  enriched  their  wool  with  colours 
borrowed  from  the  sunset.  Everywhere  hung  the  impression 
that  a  day  was  done ;  over  yonder  a  lonely  Greek,  side-saddle  on 
his  mule,  was  wending  home. 

"The  sun's  going  west  to  Falmouth,"  said  Doe,  inflamed  by 
my  recent  appreciation  of  his  poem.     "It'll  be  there  in  two 


272  Tell  England  book  n 

hours.  Wouldn't  I  like  to  hang  on  to  one  of  its  beams  and  go 
with  it !'' 

*'Don't  stand  there  talking  such  gaif,"  I  said,  "but  get  a  move 
on,  if  you  want  to  be  back  in  Mudros  before  nightfall." 

We  pursued  the  homeward  journey,  and  suddenly  surprised 
ourselves  by  emerging  above  a  hill-top  and  looking  down  over 
a  mile  of  undulating  country  upon  the  long  silver  sheet  of  water 
that  was  Mudros  Harbour.  To  us,  so  high  up,  its  vast  ship- 
ping— even  including  the  giant  Olympic — seemed  a  collection 
of  toy  steamers.  And  all  around  the  harbour  were  the  white 
specks  of  toy  tents. 

*'Our  mighty  campaign  looks,  I  s'pose,  even  smaller  and 
more  toy-like  to  Poseidon,  sitting  on  Samothrace,''  mused  Doe. 
''What  insects  we  are !  *As  flies  to  wanton  boys  are  we  to  the 
gods ;  they  kill  us  for  their  sport'  " 

Just  at  that  moment  "Retreat"  was  blown  in  the  camps 
below.  It  was  with  the  bugles  as  with  the  bells  of  a  great  city. 
One  took  the  lead  in  proclaiming  its  message;  then  another, 
and  yet  another  joined  in,  till  at  last  all  corroborated  the  news. 
And  the  trumpets  and  rifles  of  the  French  told  the  same  story. 

We  hurried  on,  but  within  a  few  minutes  darkness  dropped  a 
curtain  over  all  that  we  had  seen  from  the  hills. 


§2 

We  got  home  in  time  to  be  late  for  dinner,  and  as  we  sheep- 
ishly entered  the  mess  the  O.C.  Rest  Camp  cried : 

"Oh,  here  you  are !  Where  have  you  been  ?  Frantic  wires 
have  been  buzzing  all  the  afternoon  for  you — priority  messages 
pouring  in.  You're  to  proceed  forthwith  to  the  Peninsula. 
Headquarters  had  forgotten  all  about  you,  so  they  are  thor- 
oughly angry  with  you." 

We  sat  down  and  began  the  soup  at  once,  intending  to  have 
dinner,  even  if  it  involved  the  loss  of  the  campaign.  Monty 
explained  across  the  table  that  he  was  included  in  this  urgent 
summons. 

"Yes,  rather,"  endorsed  the  O.C,  who  was  very  full  of 
the  news,  "all  East  Cheshire  Details.  Apparently  the  East 
Cheshires  are  holding  an  awkward  position  on  a  place  called 


PART  II       Proceeding  Forthwith  to  Gallipoli       273 

Fusilier  Bluff,  and  being  killed  like  stink  by  a  well-placed 
whizz-bang  gun.  They've  got  about  fifty  men  and  half  an 
officer  left  per  company.  They're  screaming  for  reinforce- 
ments.   Salt  and  pepper,  please.    Thanks." 

**Where  is  this  Fusilier  Bluff,  sir?"  asked  I.  "At  Suvla  or 
Helles?" 

"Haven't  the  foggiest !"  answered  the  O.C.  "The  Cheshires 
always  used  to  be  at  Helles,  but  I  daresay  they  were  moved  to 
Suvla  for  the  new  landing  there,  along  with  the  29th  Division. 
Fusilier  Bluff  has  only  just  become  notorious.  Poor  young 
Doon  got  his  ticket  there — same  gun." 

"We've  a  score  to  settle  with  that  gun,  Rupert,"  said  Doe. 

Next  day  we  dressed  for  our  part  on  the  Peninsula.  Doe 
smiled  grimly  as  he  swung  round  his  neck  the  cord  that  dangled 
two  identity  discs  on  his  breast.  ''Now  there's  some  point  in 
these  things,"  he  said.  We  filled  all  the  chambers  of  our 
revolvers  and  fixed  the  weapons  on  to  our  belts,  wondering 
what  killing  men  would  feel  like,  and  how  soon  it  would  begin. 
"It'll  be  curious,"  Doe  suggested,  "going  through  life  knowing 
that  you  killed  a  man  while  you  were  still  nineteen.  Perhaps 
in  Valhalla  we'll  be  introduced  to  the  men  we've  killed.  Jove ! 
I'll  write  a  poem  about  that." 

A  fatigue  party  of  Turkish  prisoners  carried  our  kit  down  to 
the  "Egyptian  Pier,"  whence  we  were  ferried  to  the  Head- 
quarters Ship  Aragon.  Once  aboard,  Monty  took  the  lead, 
seeking  out  the  cabin  of  the  Military  Landing  Officer  and  pre- 
senting to  him  our  orders.  He  was  an  attractive  little  person, 
this  M.L.O.,  and,  having  glanced  over  our  papers,  said :  "East 
Cheshires?  Oh,  yes.  And  where  are  they ?  Are  they  at  Suvla 
or  Helles?" 

Monty  said  that  he  hadn't  the  slightest  idea,  but  imagined  it 
was  the  business  of  Headquarters  to  have  some  notion  of  a 
division's  whereabouts. 

"East  Cheshire  Division  ?  Let  me  see,"  muttered  the  M.L.O., 
chewing  his  pencil. 

We  let  him  see,  with  the  satisfactory  result  that  he  brightened 
up  and  said : 

"Ah,  yes.     They're  at  Suvla,  I  think." 

"How  nice!"  commented  Monty.  It  seemed  a  suitable  re- 
mark. 


274  Tell  England 


BOOK    II 


"Well,  anyhow/'  proceeded  the  M.L.O.,  in  the  relieved  man- 
ner of  one  who  has  chosen  which  of  two  doubtful  courses  to 
adopt,  and  is  happy  in  his  choice^  * 'there's  a  boat  going  to  Suvla 
to-night.  The  Redbreast,  I  think.  I'll  make  you  out  a  passage 
for  the  Redbreast/' 

He  did  so,  and  handed  the  chit  to  Monty,  who  replied : 

''Thanks.    But  supposing  the  Cheshires  are  not  at  Suvla?" 

"Why,  then,"  explained  the  M.L.O.,  smiling  at  having  an 
indubitable  answer  ready,  "they'll  be  at  Helles." 

And  he  beamed  agreeably. 

Just  then  there  entered  the  cabin  a  middle-aged  major  with  a 
monocle,  none  other  than  our  old  friend.  Major  Hardy  of  the 
Rangoon.  He  fixed  us  with  his  monocle  and  said :  "Well,  I'm 
damned !  Young  Ray !  Young  Doe !  Young  Padre !"  Imme- 
diately there  followed  a  fine  scene  of  reunion,  in  which  Monty 
explained  our  delay  at  Mudros;  Major  Hardy  told  us  that  he 
had  been  appointed  Brigade  Major  to  our  own  brigade,  his 
predecessor  having  been  killed  on  Fusilier  Bluff  by  the  whizz- 
bang  gun;  and  the  M.L.O.  shone  over  all  like  a  benignant 
angel. 

"Ah!  Another  for  the  East  Cheshires,"  said  he.  "Can  I 
have  your  name.  Major?" 

"Hardy,"  came  the  answer. 

"  'Hardy' — let  me  see,"  and  the  M.L.O.  ran  his  finger  down  a 
big  Nominal  Roll.  "Harris,  Harrison,  Hartop,  Hastings — no 
'Hardy'  here.  Major.    Are  you  sure  it's  not  Hartop?" 

The  owner  of  the  name  declared  that  he  was  bloody  sure. 

"Well,  I  may  be  wrong,"  acknowledged  the  M.L.O.  "Why, 
yes — here  we  are,  'Hardy.'  Well,  you  left  yesterday,  and  are 
with  your  unit."  And  he  put  the  Nominal  Roll  away,  as  much 
as  to  say:  "The  matter's  settled,  so,  as  you're  there  already, 
you  won't  need  a  passage." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  damn  you,"  corrected  the  Major.  "I'm 
in  your  filthy  office,  seeking  a  chit  to  get  to  the  East  Cheshires." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  grumbled  the  M.L.O.,  so  far 
as  such  a  delightful  person  was  capable  of  grumbling.  "But,  of 
course,  there  may  be  a  mistake  somewhere." 

"Well,  perhaps  you'll  be  good  enough,"  suggested  Major 
Hardy,  "to  give  me  a  chit  to  proceed  to  the  East  Cheshires  to 
look  into  the  matter." 


PART  II        Proceeding  Forthwith  to  Gallipoli      275 

"Oh,  certainly/*  agreed  the  M.L.O.,  with  that  prepossessing 
smile  which  came  to  his  lips  when  he  had  discovered  the  solu- 
tion of  a  problem.  "There  are  two  boats  going  to  the  Peninsula 
to-night,  one  to  Suvla  and  the  other  to  Helles.  The  Redbreast 
is  the  one  that's  going  to  Suvla,  I  fancy,  and  the  Ermine  to 
Helles.    At  any  rate,  try  the  Redbreast,  Major." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  the  Major,  "but  supposing  the  Redbreast 
doesn't  go  to  Suvla — what?*' 

"Why,  then,"  replied  the  M.L.O.,  promptly  and  brightly, 
"it'll  go  to  HeUes." 

This  enlightened  remark  produced  such  a  torrent  of  oaths 
from  Major  Hardy  as  was  only  stemmed  by  the  M.L.O.'s 
assurance  that  there  was  no  real  doubt  about  the  Redbreast's 
going  to  Suvla.  We  left  the  cabin  to  the  sound  of  a  long 
*'Ha-ha-ha !"  from  its  engaging  occupant,  who  had  been  tickled, 
you  see,  by  the  Major's  outburst. 

We  were  ferried  on  a  steam-tug  to  the  Redbreast,  and 
climbed  aboard.  She  seemed  a  funny  little  smack  after  the 
huge  Rangoon.  We  could  scarcely  elbow  our  way  along,  so 
packed  was  she  with  drafts  of  men  belonging  to  the  Lovat 
Scouts,  the  Fife  and  Forfarshire  Yeomanry,  and  the  Essex 
Regiment. 

I  was  standing  among  the  crowd  on  her  deck,  when  there  was 
a  sound  of  a  rolling  chain  and  a  slight  rocking  of  the  boat, 
which  provoked  an  indelicate  man  near  me  to  take  off  his 
helmet  and  pretend  to  be  sick  in  it.  There  was  a  rumbling  of 
the  engines  as  their  wheels  began  to  revolve,  and  a  throbbing  of 
the  Redbreast's  heart  as  though  she  found  difficulty  in  getting 
under  way  with  such  a  load.  Then  a  sudden  and  alarming 
snort  from  her  siren  drew  cries  of  "Hooter's  gone!"  "Down 
tools,  lads!"  "Ta-ta,  Mudros!"  "All  aboard  for  Dixie!" 
"Hurry  up,  hurry  up,  get  upon  the  deck.  Find  the  nearest  girl, 
and  put  your  arms  around  her  neck.  For  the  last  boat's  leaving 
for  home." 

With  cheering  from  the  anchored  ships  that  we  passed ;  with 
a  band  playing  somewhere  "The  Bonnie  Banks  of  Loch 
Lomond";  with  greeting  and  banter  from  the  Ennine,  which 
was  steaming  out  with  us  on  her  voyage  to  Helles ;  and  with  all 
these  things  under  an  overcast  sky  that  broke  frequently  into 


276  Tell  England 


BOOK    II 


rain,  we  left  Lemnos,  the  harbour  and  the  hills,  going  out 
through  a  dulled  sunset. 

'Tut  trees  on  those  hills,"  said  Doe,  approaching  me,  "and  in 
this  bad  light  you  could  imagine  you  were  going  out  of  the 
estuary  of  the  Fal  to  the  open  sea." 

''Do  you  wish  you  were?"  asked  I,  looking  at  the  hills  we 
had  climbed  the  day  before. 

"No.  I  like  the  excitement  of  this.  It's  the  best  moment  in 
the  war  Fve  had.     This  is  life !" 

From  the  sunset  and  sounds  of  the  harbour  we  steamed  into 
the  stillness  and  dark  of  the  open  seas.  No  lights  were  allowed 
on  the  decks,  for  the  enemy  knew  all  about  these  nightly  trips 
to  Turkey.  Singing  and  shouting  were  suppressed,  and  we 
heard  nothing  but  the  noise  of  the  engines,  the  splatter  of  the 
agitated  water  as  it  struck  our  hull,  and  the  sound,  getting 
fainter  and  fainter,  of  the  Ermine  ploughing  to  Helles. 

"The  stage  is  in  darkness,"  whispered  Doe  in  his  fanciful 
way.     "It's  the  changing  of  the  acts." 

The  rain  began  to  fall  in  torrents,  and  the  sky  periodically 
was  lit  by  flashes  of  an  electric  storm.  And  then  we  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  new  flashes  playing  among  those  of  the 
lightning. 

"The  guns  ?"  I  murmured. 

"Sure  thing,"  answered  Doe. 

A  sharp  shiver  of  dehght  ran  through  both  our  bodies.  Our 
eyes  at  last  were  watching  war.  To  think  of  it !  We  were  off 
the  world-famous  Peninsula ! 

And  it  was  pitch-darkness,  with  flashing  lights  everywhere ! 
From  Navy  and  Army  both,  searchlights  swept  the  sea  and 
sky,  shut  themselves  off,  and  opened  anew.  Signals  in  Morse 
sparkled  with  their  dots  and  dashes.  From  the  distant  trenches 
star-shells  rose  in  the  air,  and  seemed  to  hang  suspended  for  a 
space,  while  we  caught  the  rapid  tick-tick  of  far-away  rifle  fire. 

"It's  a  blinkin'  firework  show,"  said  a  Tommy's  voice;  and 
Doe  announced  in  my  ear:  "Rupert,  I'm  inspired!  I've  an 
idea  for  a  poem.  Our  lives  are  a  pantomime,  and  the  Genius 
of  the  Peninsula  is  the  Demon  King;  and  here  we  have  the 
flashes  and  thunder  that  always  illumine  the  horrors  of  his 
cave.  .  .  .  Jumping  Jupiter !    What's  that  ?" 

A  tremendous  report  had  gone  off  near  us ;  a  brilliant  light 


PART  II       Proceeding  Forthmth  to  GaUipoli      277 

had  shown  up  the  lines  of  a  cruiser ;  a  shell  had  shrieked  past 
us  and  whistled  away  to  explode  among  the  Turks ;  and  a  loud 
and  swelling  murmur  of  amazement  and  admiration,  rising 
from  the  Redbreast,  had  burst  into  a  thousand  laughs. 

"Fate  laughs  at  my  poem,"  grumbled  Doe. 

The  rain  raced  down :  and,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  we  learned 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  Redbreast,  it  would 
be  too  rough  for  anyone  to  land.  We  must  therefore  spend 
the  night  aboard,  and  take  the  risk  of  disembarking  under  the 
enemy's  guns  in  the  morning.  So,  wooing  sleep,  we  huddled 
into  the  chairs  of  the  saloon,  and  wished  for  the  day.  We  slept 
through  troubled  dreams,  and  woke  to  a  gathering  calm  on  the 
sea.  As  our  eager  eyes  swept  the  view  by  daylight,  we  found 
that  we  were  in  a  semicircular  and  unsheltered  bay,  whose 
choppy  water  harboured  two  warships  that  were  desultorily 
firing.    Near  us  a  derelict  trawler  lay  half  submerged. 

The  truth  broke  upon  us:  we  were  floating  at  anchor  in 
Suvla  Bay. 


CHAPTER  X 

SUVLA  AND   HELLES  AT  LAST 
§    I 

THE  morning  sun  was  up  as  we  lay  in  Suvla  Bay.  It  lit  the 
famous  battlefield,  so  that  we  saw  in  a  shining  picture 
the  hills,  up  which  the  invading  Britons  had  rushed  to  win  the 
steps  of  Sari  Bair.  From  over  Asia  it  had  risen  and,  doubtless, 
beyond  the  unwon  ridges  that  blocked  our  view,  the  Straits  of 
the  Narrows  were  glistening  like  a  silver  ribbon  in  its  light. 
We  would  have  been  dull  fools  if  we  had  gazed  otherwise  than 
spellbound  at  this  sunlit  landscape,  where  the  blood  of  lost 
battles  was  scarcely  dry  upon  the  ground. 

What  surprised  us  most  was  the  invisibility  of  the  warring 
armies.  On  the  beaches,  certainly,  there  were  tents  and  stores 
and  men  moving.  But  the  rolling  countryside  beyond  seemed 
bleak  and  deserted.  Only  occasionally  a  high-explosive  shell 
threw  up  a  spout  of  brown  earth,  or  a  burst  of  shrapnel  sent  a 
puff  of  white  smoke  to  float  like  a  Cupid's  cloud  along  the  sky. 
And  yet  two  armies  were  hidden  here,  with  their  rifles, 
machine-guns,  and  artillery  pointed  at  each  other. 

Yes,  and  yonder  invisible  Turk  had  behind  him  a  sun  whose 
rays  were  pouring  ^own  upon  our  guilty  troopship.  Any 
moment  we  might  expect  to  hear  a  shell,  addressed  to  us,  come 
whistling  down  the  sun-shaft.  We  had  reached  at  last  the 
shell-swept  zone.  From  now  onwards  there  could  be  no  cer- 
tainty that  we  would  not  be  alive  one  moment  and  dead  the 
next.     We  shivered  pleasantly. 

It  was  not  till  noon  that  a  lighter  came  alongside,  and, 
having  taken  us  all  aboard,  proceeded  to  make  for  the  beach. 
All  the  while  the  Turk  left  us  unmolested,  causing  us  to  wonder 
whether  he  were  short  of  ammunition,  or  just  rudely  indiffer- 
ent to  our  coming  to  Suvla  or  our  staying  away.    Two  shells 

278 


PART  11  Suvla  and  Helles  at  Last  279 

or  three,  we  thought,  would  have  had  their  courteous  aspect. 
But  without  greeting  of  any  kind  from  the  enemy  our  Hghter 
rose  on  the  last  wave  and  bumped  against  the  jetty.  We  gath- 
ered our  equipment,  and  with  egotistical  thrills  stepped  upon 
the  Gallipoli  Peninsula.  For  the  first  time  we  stood  in  Turkey. 
We  felt  in  our  breasts  the  pride  of  the  invader. 

Monty,  as  spokesman  of  our  party,  led  us  into  the  office  of 
the  M.L.O.,  and  assured  the  gentleman  that  we  had  come  to 
Suvla  to  find  the  East  Cheshires. 

"The  Cheshires  aren't  at  Suvla,''  said  the  M.L.O.,  with  the 
acerbity  of  an  overworked  staff -officer.  "They  never  were, 
and  never  will  be  at  Suvla." 

"Oh,"  answered  Monty  brightly,  seeing  a  vision  of  his  friend, 
the  M.L.O.  of  the  Aragon,  "then  they'll  be  at  Helles." 

The  Suvla  M.L.O.  blasted  Monty  with  a  look,  and  said: 
"That's  the  remark  of  a  fool." 

"Exactly,"  agreed  Monty;  "it  was  the  remark  of  an 
M.L.O." 

And  he  explained  how,  all  along,  he  had  conjectured  that  the 
pleasant  creature  on  the  Aragon  had  blundered  in  sending  us  to 
Suvla. 

"Well,  why  the  devil  did  you  come?"  inquired  the  M.L.O. 

"Because,"  answered  Monty,  imperturbably,  "I  wanted  to  see 
the  world,  and  Suvla  in  particular;  and  I  might  not  have  had 
another  opportunity  of  visiting  your  delightful  bay." 

"You  mean  to  say,"  said  the  M.L.O.,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
badges  of  the  Army  Chaplains'  Department,  "that  you  delib- 
erately traded  on  a  mistake  in  order  to  get  a  holiday  trip  to 
Suvla  ?    And  still — ha — still  you  expect  us  to  go  to  church." 

If  he  was  anxious  to  discuss  the  question  why  men  didn't  go 
to  church,  nobody  was  more  ready  to  meet  him  than  Monty, 
who  therewith  sat  down  upon  a  box,  so  as  comfortably  to  do 
justice  to  a  really  interesting  topic.  I  admit  I  felt  a  sudden 
horror  lest  he  should  hold  forth  on  the  Mass  and  Confession. 
I  went  quite  cold  with  apprehension.  It's  dreadful  the  em- 
barrassment you  elders  cause  us  young  people  lest  you  say 
something  completely  out  of  place  and  impossible.  In  very 
fact,  youth  is  the  age  of  embarrassing  adults. 

What  Monty  would  have  said  remains  a  mystery,  for  at  this 


280  Tell  England  book  n 

moment  Major  Hardy,  who  had  come  in  our  wake,  exploded 
into  the  discussion. 

"Be  damned  to  you,  sir!"  he  said  to  the  M.L.O.,  wiping  his 
eyeglass  furiously.  "Be  damned  to  you — what!  I  see  nothing 
funny  in  being  sent  to  the  wrong  front  by  a  simpering,  defec- 
tive idiot  on  the  Aragon.  Kindly  give  me  a  chit  to  proceed  to 
Helles  to-morrow  by  some  bloody  trawler,  or  something." 

"With  the  utmost  pleasure,"  said  the  M.L.O. ;  "Suvla  can 
well  be  rid  of  you.  You  can  go  to  Helles,  or  Hell,  by  the  6  a.m. 
boat  to-morrow." 

Bless  these  M.L.O.'s!  Were  we  not  indebted  to  them? 
The  mistake  of  one  conceded  us  a  visit  to  Suvla  Bay,  and  the 
discourteous  dismissal  of  another  ensured  that  we  should  bear 
down  upon  Cape  Helles,  not,  as  normally,  in  a  dead  darkness, 
but  in  the  bright  light  of  an  October  morning.  I  began  to 
understand  Monty's  unscrupulous  opportunism.  It  would  be  a 
wonderful  trip,  skirting  by  daylight  the  coastline  of  the  Penin- 
sula, till  we  rounded  the  point  and  looked  upon  the  Helles 
Beaches,  the  sacred  site  of  the  first  and  most  marvellous  battle 
of  the  Dardanelles  campaign.  It  was  a  pilgrimage  to  a  shrine 
that  stretched  before  us  on  the  morrow.  The  pilgrim's  route 
was  a  path  in  the  blue  ^gean  from  Suvla  Bay  to  Helles  Point ; 
and  the  shrine  was  the  immortal  battleground.  Enough ;  let  us 
make  the  most  of  Suvla  this  day,  for  to-morrow  we  should  see 
Helles. 

Leaving  the  office,  we  sought  out  some  shelter  for  the  night. 
We  found  a  line  of  deserted  dug-outs — little  cells  cut  in  the 
sloping  hillside,  and  scantily  roofed  by  waterproof  sheets.  It 
was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  no  sooner  had  we  thrown 
down  our  kit  into  these  grave-like  chambers  than  the  Turk 
wiped  his  mouth  after  his  tea  and  opened  his  Evening  Hate. 
There  was  the  distant  boom  of  a  shell.  Before  we  could  realise 
what  the  sound  was,  and  say  "Hallo!  they've  begun,"  the 
missile  had  exploded  among  the  stores  on  the  beach.  That  was 
my  baptism  of  fire.  Without  the  least  hesitation  I  copied 
Major  Hardy  and  Monty,  and  went  flat  on  my  face  behind 
some  brushwood.  Only  Doe,  too  proud  to  take  cover,  re- 
mained standing,  and  then  blushed  self-consciously  lest  he  had 
appeared  to  be  posing. 


PART    II 


Suvla  and  Helles  at  Last  281 


"Does  this  go  on  for  long?"  asked  Monty  of  a  man  who, 
being  near  us,  had  hurled  himself  prone  across  my  back. 

"Don't  know,  sir,"  answered  he,  cheerily,  as  he  picked  him- 
self up.  "Yesterday  they  sent  down  seventy  shells,  and  killed 
six  men  and  four  mules.  .  .  .  Oh !  there  it  is  again." 

And  our  informant  took  up  a  position  on  his  stomach,  while 
a  second  shell  shrieked  into  the  stores. 

"They've  the  range  all  right,"  said  Monty,  as  we  all  got  up 
again. 

"Yes,  sir.  But  they  can't  have  many  shells  left  after  yester- 
day's effort.  They're  so  starvation  short  that  we  reckon  last 
night  they  had  a  surprise  camel-load  arrive.  But  ain't  it  plain, 
sir,  that  if  the  Germans  could  get  through  to  the  Turk  with 
ammunition,  they  could  send  down  ten  thousand  shells  in  a 
day  and  blow  us  into  the  sea  ?  That's  why  the  'Uns  are  thun- 
dering along  through  Servia  to  Turkey  now,  sir.  They're 
coming  all  right.  .  .  .  Oh !  there  it  is  again." 

Once  more  the  soldier  stretched  his  length  on  the  ground,  and 
a  third  shell  tore  towards  us. 

"As  I  was  saying,  sir,"  continued  our  new  friend,  now  on 
his  hind  legs  again,  and  brushing  dust  from  his  clothes.  "This 
Suvla  army,  unless  it  can  get  to  the  top  of  Sari  Bair,  is  faced 
with  destruction,  and  they  tell  me  the  Helles  army  is  just  the 
same,  unless  it  can  get  to  the  top  of  Achi  Baba.  It  never  will 
now,  sir.  And  how  can  we  quit  without  being  seen  from  those 
hills?  The  'Uns  know  they've  got  us  trapped.  That's  why 
they're  coming  through  Servia,  ammunition  and  all.  They'll  be 
on  us  soon." 

"But  we'll  win,'^  suggested  Monty,  tentatively. 

"O  Lord,  yes,  sir.  But  not  here.  Things  are  going  to  be 
interesting  here.  .  .  .  God  knows  how  it'll  all  end.  .  .  .  Oh! 
there  it  is  again." 

The  gun  boomed,  and  the  speaker  kissed  the  dust. 

I  had  just  decide'd  that  it  was  best  to  remain  recumbent,  and 
Doe,  too,  had  sat  down  rather  sheepishly,  when  the  Turk  either 
ran  out  of  ammunition  or  felt  that  he  had  done  all  that  formal- 
ity required  of  him,  and  returned  to  his  hookah  in  peace. 

Knowing  that  night  would  fall  quickly,  we  hastened  to  make 
ourselves  some  supper.  Its  last  mouthfuls  we  finished  in  dark- 
ness; and,  having  nothing  further  to  do,  determined  to  go  to 


282  Tell  England  book  h 

bed  in  our  little  dug-outs  on  the  hillside.  Standing  in  the  blue 
darkness  outside  these  narrow  dwelling-places,  like  lepers 
among  our  tombs,  we  wished  each  other  good-night  and  a  good 
sleep.  Then  we  crawled  into  our  graves.  Wrapping  my  knees 
in  my  British  warm,  I  disposed  myself  to  rest. 

But  I  could  not  sleep.  My  mind  was  too  active  with  thinking 
that  I  was  lying  in  the  historic  ground,  over  which  the  battle 
had  rolled.  As  a  light  in  a  room  keeps  a  would-be  sleeper 
awake,  so  the  bright  glow  of  my  thoughts  kept  my  brain  from 
rest.  Here  was  I  on  that  amazing  Peninsula,  towards  which  I 
had  looked  in  wonder  from  the  cliffs  of  Mudros.  Around  me, 
and  in  the  earth  as  I  was,  the  dead  men,  more  successful  than  I, 
were  sleeping  dreamlessly.  On  higher  slopes  the  tired  army 
held  the  fire-trenches,  with  its  faces  and  rifles  still  turned 
bravely  landward  and  upward.  Above  them  the  Turks  hung 
to  the  extremities  of  their  territory  with  the  same  tenacity  that 
we  should  show  in  defending  Kent  or  Cornwall.  Behind  the 
Turk  ran  the  silver  Narrows,  the  splendid  trophy  of  the  present 
tourney.  And,  as  I  had  been  reminded  that  afternoon,  far 
away  the  German  armies  were  battling  through  the  corridors  of 
Servia  that  they  might  come  and  destroy  the  invaders  of  Suvla 
and  Helles. 

To  increase  my  wakefulness  the  rapid  fire  of  rifle  and 
machine-gun,  which  had  been  almost  unheard  during  the  day- 
time, began  with  the  fall  of  darkness,  and  continued  sporadic 
through  the  night.  Like  the  chirp  of  a  great  cricket,  it  was 
doubly  insistent  in  the  silent  hours.  >  The  artillery,  too,  was 
more  restless  than  it  had  been  in  the  light  of  day.  Seemingly 
all  were  nervous  of  the  dark. 

It  is  ever  difficult  to  sleep  in  a  strange  bed.  I  found  myself 
opening  my  eyes  and  looking  up  at  my  oil-sheet  roof.  So 
scanty  was  it  that  it  left  apertures,  through  which  I  could  see 
the  stars  shining  in  a  perfect  sky.  I  shut  my  eyes  and  gave 
rein  to  my  thoughts,  gradually  elaborating  the  wild  dream  of  a 
thinker  who  was  unaware  that  he  had  at  last  dropped  off  to 
sleep.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  whole  army  at  Suvla  was  that 
night  storming  the  hills  that  intervened  between  us  and  the 
silver  Narrows.  I  was  rushing  with  the  attackers,  while  the 
shells  roared  and  pitched  harmlessly  among  us,  and  at  length 
I  was  standing  on  the  summit  of  Sari  Bair,  which  showed  the 


PART    II 


Suvla  and  Helles  at  Last  283 


Narrows  under  the  moon  and  stars.  The  Narrows  seen  at 
last!  There,  look,  was  the  waterway  to  Constantinople.  I 
waited  patiently  to  see  the  Navy  pour  up  it  in  triumphant 
procession.  Beside  me  was  the  stranger  who  had  spoken  to  us 
in  the  afternoon,  and  I  said  to  him :  'The  coast  seems  clear. 
Let's  go  down  and  swim  the  Hellespont,  where  Leander  and 
Byron  swam."  But  at  that  moment  there  was  a  loud  explosion 
near  us,  and  a  sound  as  of  particles  of  earth  falling  upon  an 
oil-sheet  roof. 

Conscious  that  this  tremendous  report  was  not  the  creation 
of  a  troubled  dreamer,  but  something  real,  which  had  worked 
itself  into  the  texture  of  my  dreams,  I  lifted  heavy  eyelids,  and 
learned  that  a  stray  night-shell  from  the  Turkish  lines  had 
burst  very  close  to  my  dug-out,  and  the  debris  was  tumbling  on 
the  roof.  .  .  .  And  we  were  still  low  down  on  the  slope  to 
victory. 

After  that,  sleep  passed  from  me,  and  I  watched  the  dawn 
break. 

§2 

At  six  o'clock  the  next  morning  we  were  all  on  the  little 
trawler,  due  to  leave  for  Cape  Helles.  Helles !  The  stirring, 
pregnant  name  was  a  thing  to  toy  with.  Suvla  was  a  great 
word,  but  Helles  was  a  greater.  So  farewell  to  Suvla  now. 
We  must  also  see  Helles. 

"To  Helles,''  said  the  hardened  skipper,  with  the  same  dull 
unconcern  that  a  cabman  might  show  in  saying  "To  Hydp 
Park." 

The  workmanlike  boat  got  under  way.  As  I  gazed  from  its 
side  towards  the  Suvla  that  we  were  leaving,  the  whole  line  of 
the  Peninsula  came  into  panorama  before  me.  The  sun,  just 
awake,  bathed  a  long,  waving  skyline  that  rose  at  two  points 
to  dominant  levels.  One  was  Sari  Bair,  the  stately  hill  which 
stood  inviolate,  although  an  army  had  dashed  itself  against  its 
fastnesses.  The  other,  lower  down  the  skyline,  was  Achi 
Baba,  as  impregnable  as  her  sister,  Sari  Bair.  The  story  of 
the  campaign  was  the  story  of  these  two  hills. 

For  perfect  charm,  I  recall  no  trip  to  equal  this  cruise 
betimes  in  the  sparking  ^Egean.     Our  trawler  was  travelling 


284  Tell  England  book  h 

with  the  smoothness  of  a  gondola  on  a  Venetian  canal.  And 
the  voyage,  sunny  and  refreshing  in  itself,  was  given  an  added 
glamour,  by  reason  of  the  shrine  to  which  it  was  a  pilgrimage. 
For,  whether  I  could  believe  it  or  not,  we  were  steaming  fast 
to  Helles. 

My  sensations,  as  we  gaily  bore  through  the  sea  upon  the 
•hallowed  site,  were  those  of  one  who  awaits  the  rise  of  a  cur- 
tain upon  a  famous  drama.  I  sprang  my  imagination  to  the 
alert  position,  that  I  might  not  miss  one  thrill,  when  we  should 
enter  the  bay  whose  waters  played  on  W  Beach.  Conceive  it : 
there  would  meet  my  gaze  a  stretch  of  lapping  water,  a  width 
of  beach,  and  a  bluff  hill ;  and  I  must  say :  "Here  were  con- 
fused battle,  and  blood  filtering  through  the  ground.  There 
was  agony  here,  and  quivering  flesh.  Here  the  promises  of 
straight  limbs,  keen  eyes,  and  clear  cheeks  were  cancelled  in  a 
spring  morning.  Our  schoolfellows  died  here,  Stanley,  and 
Lancelot,  and  Moles  White.  Hither  a  thousand  destinies  con- 
verged upon  the  beach,  and  here  they  closed." 

The  boat  was  approaching  a  rounded  headland.  In  a  second 
the  vision  would  be  before  me.  Come  now,  could  I  think  all 
these  things — could  I  realise  them,  as  we  entered  the  bay?  I 
found  not.  Before  I  had  gripped  half  the  thrilling  ideas  that 
were  the  gift  of  the  moment,  we  were  moored  against  the  jetty 
at  W  Beach,  and  I  was  stepping  ashore  to  take  my  part  in  the 
last  chapters  of  the  Gallipoli  story. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN   ATMOSPHERE    OF   SHOCKS   AND   SUDDEN   DEATH 
§   I 

ONE  evening,  three  days  later,  I  was  sitting,  inconceivably 
bored,  in  my  new  dug-out  on  the  notorious  Fusilier  Bluff. 
This  dug-out  was  a  recess,  hewn  in  damp,  crumbling  soil,  with 
a  frontage  built  of  sand-bags.  Its  size  was  that  of  an  ancho- 
rite's cell,  and  any  abnormal  movement  or  extra  loud  noise 
within  it  brought  the  stones  and  earth  in  showers  down  the 
walls.  Indeed,  the  walls  of  my  new  home  so  far  resembled  the 
walls  of  Jericho  that  it  only  required  a  shout  to  bring  them 
down  upon  the  floor.  In  the  sand-bag  front  were  two  aper- 
tures, called  the  door  and  the  window,  which  overlooked  the 
^gean  Sea.  For  this  reason  the  name  "Seaview"  had  been 
painted  above  the  door  in  lively  moments  by  the  preceding 
tenant,  whose  grave  was  visible  lower  down  the  Bluif.  I 
watched  the  night  gathering  on  the  sea,  while  over  my  home 
the  whizz-bang  gun — that  evil  genius  of  the  place,  and  the 
murderer  of  Jimmy  Doon — spat  its  high-velocity  shells. 

I  was  alone.  The  CO.  of  the  East  Cheshires,  who  did  not 
seem  to  have  grasped  that  Doe  and  I  were  friends,  had  attached 
me  to  D  Company,  which  was  in  reserve  on  the  slopes  of 
Fusilier  Bluff,  and  Doe  to  B  Company,  which  was  holding  the 
fire-trenches.  The  man  was  a  fool,  of  course,  but  what  could 
a  subaltern  say  to  a  colonel?  And  Monty,  too,  had  gone  to 
live  by  himself.  Finding  that  his  new  parish  was  extensive 
and  scattered,  he  had  abandoned  Fusilier  Bluff,  and,  choosing 
the  most  central  spot,  had  built  himself  a  sand-bag  hovel  some- 
where in  the  Eski  Line.    Struth !    Everything  was  the  limit. 

I  went  to  bed.  And  it  was  after  I  was  deeply  submerged  in 
dreams  that  I  awoke  with  a  start,  for  someone  seemed  to  be 
telling  me  to  get  up  and  dress,  as  there  was  an  alarm  afloat 

285 


286  Tell  England  book  n 

A  voice  was  saying:  "All  the  troops  have  been  ordered  to 
stand  to,  sir.  There's  an  attack  expected.  The  Adjutant  sent 
me  to  call  you." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Adjutant's  orderly,  loth  East  Cheshires,  sir." 

"Thanks."  Hurriedly  dressing,  I  went  out  and  found  that 
the  Bluif,  now  white  in  the  moonlight,  was  lined  with  men  in 
full  equipment  Orders  were  being  shouted,  and  telephones 
were  buzzing. 

"D  Company,  fall  in." 

"See  that  there  are  two  men  to  every  machine-gun  at  once." 

D  Company,  with  myself  attached  to  it,  left  the  Bluff  and 
filed  through  a  communication  trench  to  the  firing  line.  Here 
every  man  was  a  silent  sentry,  his  bayonet  shining  in  the  moon- 
light. Doe,  whose  eyes  were  bright  with  excitement,  was 
walking  hastily  up  and  down  the  company  front,  looking  over 
the  parapet,  giving  orders  in  a  fine  whisper,  and  pretending  in 
a  variety  of  ways  that  he  was  uncommonly  efficient  at  this  sort 
of  surprise  attack.    I  touched  his  sleeve  and  asked : 

"Whafs  it  all  about?" 

"Heaven  knows !  A  sergeant  spotted  some  trees  waving  in 
front  of  the  moon,  thought  they  were  Turks,  and  gave  the 
alarm.    He  saw  trees  as  men  walking.    Sorry.    Can't  stay." 

I  wandered  along  the  trench,  seeing  the  men  of  my  platoon 
properly  disposed  so  as  to  stiffen  the  resistance  of  B  Company. 
Then  I  returned  for  the  latest  news  of  the  crisis  to  where  Doe 
was  conversing  with  an  unknown  officer.  They  were  recalling 
how  they  had  once  travelled  in  the  train  together  from  Pad- 
dington  to  Falmouth,  and  never  seen  each  other  again  till  this 
moment.  Doe  was  praising  the  lovely  country  through  which 
the  Great  Western  Railway  passed — Somerset,  and  the  White 
Horse  Vale,  and  the  beautiful  stretch  of  water  at  Dawlish;  or 
the  red  cliffs  of  Devon,  where  the  train  ran  along  the  coast 
Some  of  the  red  earth  of  Gallipoli,  he  said,  reminded  him  of 
Devon's  red  loam. 

Evidently  the  Turkish  attack  was  not  going  to  materialise.  I 
stood  upon  the  firing-step  and  looked  over  the  parapet.  In  the 
moonlight  I  could  see  the  black  sand-bags  of  the  Turks'  front 
line,  and  the  desolate  waste  of  No  Man's  Land.  .  .  .  Then  my 
hand  sprang  to  the  butt  of  my  revolver.     Something  had 


PART    II 


Shocks  and  Sudden  Death  287 


moved  in  No  Man's  Land.  **Look  out!"  I  said.  'They're 
coming!"  just  as  from  behind  a  bit  of  rising  ground  a  figure 
rose  on  to  its  hands  and  knees.  I  pointed  my  revolver  at  it,  and 
pulled  the  trigger.  The  figure  collapsed,  and  rolled  forwards 
till  its  progress  was  arrested  by  a  rocky  projection,  over  which 
it  finally  lay,  doubled  up  like  a  bolster.  As  it  fell  my  heart 
gave  a  sickening  leap,  either  of  excitement  or  of  fright. 

At  once  the  whole  of  the  company  front  opened  rapid  fire. 
A  few  things  seemed  to  fall  about  in  No  Man's  Land,  and  I 
saw  some  figures  pass  across  the  moon  as  they  scurried  back  to 
their  trenches. 

"Cease  fire!"  ordered  the  O.C.  firing  line.  ''Merely  a  recon- 
naissance raid.    Silly  trouts,  these  Turks." 

And  Doe  came  up  to  me,  saying  almost  enviously : 

"YouVe  killed  your  man,  Rupert.     Congratulations." 

Without  answering  I  stood  on  the  firing-step  again,  and 
looked  at  the  limp  form  of  my  victim.  It  was  dead  beyond 
question,  shapeless  and  horrible. 

I  took  my  platoon  back  to  the  Bluff,  dismissed  it,  and  going 
up  to  my  dug-out  door,  stood  there  for  a  moment  thinking. 
Since  leaving  it  an  hour  ago  I  had  killed  a  man. 

"You  mustn't  rest  till  you've  slaughtered  a  Turk,"  our  new 
CO.  had  said,  for  he  was  an  apostle  of  the  offensive  spirit. 
"Then,  if  they  kill  you,  you'll  at  least  have  taken  a  life  for  a 
life.  And  any  more  that  you  kill  before  they  finish  you  off 
will  be  clear  gain  for  King  George." 

Not  wishing  to  go  to  bed  yet,  I  went  back  to  the  firing  line, 
and  looked  over  our  sand-bags  once  more.  The  body  was  still 
there,  shapeless  and  horrible,  and  as  limp  as  a  half-empty  sack 
of  coals. 

§2 

Some  of  the  officers  of  B  and  D  Companies  were  drinking 
together  the  following  day  in  a  hole  on  the  Bluff,  when  the 
Brigade  Bombing  Officer  burst  in  among  us,  and  seized  a  mug. 

"Thanks.  I  will,"  he  said.  "Just  a  spot  of  whisky.  Well, 
here's  to  you.     Cheerioh !" 

He  drank  half  the  mug,  and  addressed  me. 

"Ray,  you  have  found  favour  in  the  sight  of  the  General. 


288  Tell  England  book  n 

He  wants  you  for  his  A.D.C.,  and  won't  be  happy  till  he  gets 
you.  He  thinks  you  a  pretty  and  a  proper  child  and  fairly 
clean.     WJmt  abaht  itr 

''Good  Lord/'  said  I.  "I  don't  know  what  an  A.D.C.  is! 
What  do  I  dor 

"Oh,  see  that  the  old  gentleman  is  fed.  And  cut  out  the 
saucy  girls  from  'La  Vie  Parisienne/  and  decorate  the  mess 
walls  with  them.    And — and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Go  on,  Ray,''  urged  Doe.  "Of  course  you'll  be  it.  Put 
him  down  for  the  job.  I  wish  the  old  general  had  fallen  in  love 
with  me/' 

"I  don't  mind  trying  it,"  I  said.    "Anything  for  a  change." 

"Right,"  replied  the  Bombing  Officer.  "Ray,  having  been 
four  days  with  a  company  of  the  East  Cheshires,  feels  in  need 
of  a  change.  He  desires  to  better  himself.  Now  for  the  next 
point.  I'm  chucking  this  Bombing  Officer  stunt.  It's  too 
dangerous.  Both  my  predecessors  were  killed,  and  yesterday 
the  Turk  threw  a  bomb  at  me.  Now,  is  there  anybody  tired  of 
his  life  and  laden  with  his  sin?  Anyone  want  to  commit 
suicide?  Anyone  feel  a  call?  Anyone  want  to  do  the  bloody 
hero,  and  be  Brigade  Bombing  Officer?" 

Doe  blushed  at  once. 

"I'll  have  a  shot  at  it.  .  •  .  Anything  for  a  change,"  he  added 
apologetically. 

"That's  the  spirit  that  made  England  great !"  said  the  Bomb- 
ing Officer.  "I  do  like  keenness.  Splendid !  Ray  goes  to  the 
softest  job  in  the  Army,  and  Doe,  stout  fellow,  to  the  damnedst. 
Thanks :  just  another  little  spot.     Cheerioh !" 

In  name  my  new  character  was  that  of  Brigade  Ammunition 
Officer,  but  it  amounted,  as  the  Bombing  Officer  had  said,  to 
being  A.D.C.  to  the  Brigadier.  I  was  entirely  miserable  in  it 
Painfully  shy  of  the  old  general  and  his  staff-officers,  I  never 
spoke  at  meals  in  the  solemn  Headquarters  Mess  unless  I  had 
carefully  rehearsed  before  what  I  was  going  to  say.  And, 
when  I  said  it,  I  saw  how  foolish  it  sounded. 

Anid  Major  Hardy — who,  you  will  remember,  was  our 
Brigade  Major — used  to  be  unnecessarily  funny  about  my 
youth,  fixing  me  with  his  monocle  over  the  evening  dinner- 
table  and  asking  me  if  I  were  allowed  to  sit  up  to  dinner  at 
home.     I  imagine  he  thought  he  was  humorous. 


PART  II  Shocks  and  Sudden  Death  289 

Grand  old  Major  Hardy!  I  must  not  speak  lightly  of  him 
here.  It  is  only  because  I  have  now  to  finish  his  story  that  I 
have  mentioned  my  regrettable  declension  on  to  the  staff. 

Major  Hardy  had  not  been  ten  days  on  the  Peninsula  before 
he  made  his  reputation.  His  monocle,  his  ''what/'  and  his  rich 
maledictions  were  admired  and  imitated  all  along  the  Brigade 
front.  From  Fusilier  Bluff  to  Stanley  Street  it  was  agreed  that 
Major  Foolhardy  was  a  Sahib.  Twice  a  day  every  bay  in  the 
trench  system  was  cursed  by  him.  "God !  give  me  ten  Turks 
and  a  dog,  and  Fd  capture  the  whole  of  this  sector  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,''  and  his  head  was  over  the  parapet  in  broad 
daylight,  examining  the  Turkish  peepholes.  It  was  a  common 
saying  that  he  would  be  hit  one  fine  morning. 

The  morning  came.  The  Signal  Officer  and  I  were  sittting  in 
the  Headquarters  Mess,  sipping  an  eleven  o'clock  cherry 
brandy,  and  wondering  why  the  General  and  the  Brigade  Major 
had  not  returned  from  their  tour  of  the  trenches.  Headquar- 
ters were  situated  in  Gully  Ravine,  that  prince  among  ravines 
on  the  Peninsula.  From  my  place  I  could  see  the  gully  floor, 
which  was  the  dry  bed  of  a  water-course,  winding  away  be- 
tween high  walls  of  perpendicular  cliffs  or  steep,  scrub-covered 
slopes,  as  it  pursued  its  journey,  like  some  colossal  trench, 
towards  the  firing  line.  Down  the  great  cleft,  while  I  looked,  a 
horseman  came  riding  rapidly.  He  was  an  officer,  with  a  slight 
open  wound  in  his  chin,  and  he  rode  up  to  our  door  and  said : 
''Hardy's  hit.    A  hole  in  the  face." 

He  was  followed  by  the  General,  whose  clothes  and  hands 
were  splashed  with  Major  Hardy's  blood.  ^The  General  told 
us  what  had  happened.  He  had  been  talking  to  Hardy  and 
some  others  on  Fusilier  Bluff,  when  the  infamous  whizz-bang 
gun — that  messenger  of  Satan  sent  to  buffet  us — shot  a  shell 
whose  splinters  took  the  Major  in  the  face  and  lungs.  He 
dropped,  saying  "Dammit,  I'm  hit,  what,"  and  was  now  being 
taken  in  a  dying  condition  down  Gully  Ravine  to  the  Field 
Ambulance. 

It  surprised  me  what  an  everyday  affair  this  tragedy 
seemed.  There  were  expressions  of  sorrow,  but  no  hush  of 
calamity.  Jests  were  made  at  lunch,  and  all  ate  as  heartily  as 
usual.  "Well,  he  lasted  ten  days,"  said  the  Brigadier,  "which  is 
more  than  a  good  many  have  done." 


290  Tell  England  book  n 

Personally,  I  found  myself  repeating,  in  my  wool-gathering 
way,  the  word  "Two/'  Already  two  out  of  the  five  who  sat 
down  to  lunch  together  that  first  day  on  board  the  Rangoon 
had  been  killed — and,  for  that  matter,  by  the  same  gun.  "Two." 
"The  knitting  women  counted  two/'  Ah !  that  was  what  I  was 
thinking  of.  The  knitting  women  had  knitted  two  off  the 
strength  of  that  little  company.  Monty,  Doe,  and  myself  were 
left.  I  wondered  which  of  those  would  have  fallen  when  the 
knitting  women  should  count  "Three.'' 

It  was  not  difficult  to  prophesy.  Monty,  though  he  was  as 
venturesome  as  any  combatant,  could  never  quite  share  the 
dangers  of  the  men  who  lived  in  the  trenches.  His  dug-out, 
back  in  the  Eski  Line,  was  safe  from  everything  but  a  howitzer 
shell.  And  I — ye  gods!  I  was  comparatively  secure,  loafing 
about  in  the  softest  job  in  the  Army.  Everything  pointed  to 
Doe  as  Number  Three. 

I  thought  of  our  unbroken  partnership,  and  decided — ^as 
much  in  rash  defiance  as  in  loyalty  to  my  friend — that  I  would 
ask  to  be  relieved  of  my  position  as  Ammunition  Officer  and 
allowed  to  return  to  my  battalion.  The  permission  was  granted. 
And  oh !  I  cannot  explain  it,  but  it  was  good  to  be  back  with 
my  company  after  the  enervating  experience  of  staif-life. 
And,  better  still,  now  that  Doe  was  no  longer  a  platoon  com- 
mander but  Brigade  Bombing  Officer,  he  could  live  where  he 
liked,  and  had  arranged  to  share  my  dug-out — ^that  delectable 
villa  on  Fusilier  Bluff  known  as  "Seaview."  Really,  under 
these  conditions,  the  Peninsula,  we  felt,  would  be  quite  "swish." 


CHAPTER  XII 

SACRED   TO   WHITE 
§1 

ON  a  certain  morning  Doe  and  I  in  our  dug-out  on  Fusilier 
Bluff  felt  the  pull  and  the  fascination,  coming  over  five 
miles  of  scrub,  of  the  magical  Cape  Helles.  It  was  but  a  score 
of  weeks  since  the  first  invaders  had  stormed  its  beaches :  and 
we  wanted  to  drink  again  of  the  romance  that  charged  the  air. 
So,  being  free  for  a  time,  we  walked  to  the  brow  overlooking 
V  Beach,  and  stood  there,  letting  the  breeze  blow  on  our  faces, 
and  thinking  of  the  British  Army  that  blew  in  one  day  like  a 
gale  from  the  sea. 

The  damage  wrought  by  that  tornado  was  everywhere  visible. 
Near  us  were  the  ruins  of  a  lighthouse.  In  old  days  it  had 
glimmered  for  distant  mariners,  who  pointed  to  it  as  the 
Dardanelles  light.  But,  at  the  outbreak  of  war,  the  Turk  had 
closed  his  Dardanelles  and  put  out  the  lamp.  He  would  never 
kindle  it  again,  for  the  Queen  Elizabeth,  or  a  warship  of  her 
kidney,  had  lain  off  shore  and  reduced  the  lighthouse  to  these 
white  stones.  Across  the  amphitheatre  of.  the  bay  were  the 
village  and  broken  forts  of  Seddel  Bahr;  and,  aground  at  this 
point,  the  famous  old  hulk,  the  River  Clyde.  You  remember — 
who  could  forget  ? — how  they  turned  this  vessel  into  a  modern 
Horse  of  Troy,  cramming  its  belly  with  armed  men,  running  it 
ashore,  and  then  opening  square  doors  in  its  hull-sides  and 
letting  loose  the  invaders — while  the  plains  of  Old  Troy  looked 
down  from  over  the  Hellespont.  What  a  litter  old  Mother 
Qyde  carried  in  her  womb  that  day!  From  where  we  stood 
we  could  see  those  square  doors,  cut  in  her  sides,  through  which 
the  troops  and  rushed  into  the  bullet-hail :  we  could  see,  too, 
the  semicircular  beach,  where  they  had  attempted  to  land,  and 

291 


292  Tell  England  book  ii 

the  ribbon  of  blue  water  in  which  so  many,  weighted  with  their 
equipment,  had  sunk  and  died. 

And  what  was  that  thing  a  few  cable  lengths  out,  a  rusty 
iron  something,  rising  from  the  water,  and  being  lapped  by  the 
incoming  ripples?  It  was  the  keel  of  the  old  Majestic,  which 
lay  there,  deck  downwards,  on  the  ocean  bed. 

"It's  too  pathetic !"  exclaimed  the  sensitive  Doe.  "Let's  go 
and  visit  the  Clyde.    Fancy,  old  Moles  White  was  in  that  boat." 

We  dropped  down  from  the  headland  into  V  Beach  Bay,  and, 
in  doing  so,  passed  the  limit  of  the  British  zone  and  trespassed 
upon  French  territory.  The  slope,  from  the  beach  upward, 
was  as  alive  with  French  and  Senegalese  as  a  cloven  ant-hill  is 
alive  with  ants.  The  stores  of  the  whole  French  army  seemed 
accumulated  in  the  neighbourhood.  There  was  an  atmosphere 
of  French  excitability,  very  different  from  the  stillness  of  the 
British  Zone.  Stepping  from  the  British  Zone  into  the  French 
was  like  turning  suddenly  from  the  quiet  of  Rotten  Row  into 
the  bustle  of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  It  was  prenez-garde 
and  attention  la!  depeches-vous  and  pardon,  m'sieu,  and  sacre 
nom  de  dieu!  before  we  got  through  all  these  hearty  busy- 
bodies  and  drew  near  the  hull  of  the  Clyde, 

With  unwitting  reverence  we  approached.  Fll  swear  I  was 
within  an  ace  of  removing  my  hat,  and  that,  had  I  talked  to 
Doe,  I  should  have  spoken  in  a  whisper.  It  was  like  visiting  a 
church.  Look,  there  by  the  square  doors  were  the  endless 
marks  of  machine-gun  bullets  that  had  swept  the  men  who  tried 
to  leave  the  boat  for  the  shore.  God!  they  hadn't  a  dog's 
chance.  If  those  bullet  indentations  meant  anything,  they 
meant  that  the  man  who  left  the  square  door  was  lucky  if  he 
got  ashore  with  less  than  a  dozen  bullets  in  his  flesh. 

We  stepped  on  to  the  gangway  that  led  to  the  nearest  of  the 
doors  and  hurried  up  to  it,  catching  something  of  the  "Get 
back — get  back!"  sensation  of  those  who  had  been  forced  by 
the  bullets  to  withdraw  into  the  hold.  A  huge  hold  it  showed 
Itself  to  be  when  we  bowed  our  heads  and  stepped  into  it 
through  the  square  door.  Yes,  they  could  cram  battalions  here. 
What  a  hive  the  Clyde  was  when  they  hurled  it  ashore !  And 
what  a  swarm  of  bees  it  housed !  In  this  hold,  now  so  silent 
and  empty,  what  emotions  throbbed  that  day ! 

"Poor  old  White!"  murmured  Doe.     "He  got  ashore  well 


PART    II 


Sacred  to  White  293 


enough,  and  wasn't  killed  till  the  fighting  on  the  high  ground. 
By  Jove,  Rupert!  we'll  search  the  Peninsula  from  here  to 
Fusilier  Bluff  for  his  grave.    Come  on.'' 

We  left  the  comparative  darkness  of  the  hold,  and  stepped 
through  the  square  door,  that  had  been  so  deadly  an  exit  for 
hundreds,  into  the  bright  daylight.  At  once  there  was  given 
us  a  full  view  of  V  Beach,  with  the  sea  sparkling  as  it  broke 
upon  the  shingle.  The  air  all  about  was  strangely  opalescent. 
Seddel  Bahr  shone  in  the  sun,  as  only  a  white  Eastern  village 
can.  The  hills  rising  from  the  beach  looked  steep  and  difficult, 
but  sunlit  and  shimmering.  Everything  shimmered  as  a  result 
of  the  sudden  contrast  from  the  darkness  of  the  hold.  Even 
so  must  the  scene  have  flashed  upon  the  eyes  of  the  invaders 
as  they  issued  from  the  sides  of  the  Clyde,  For  many  of  them, 
how  quickly  the  bright  light  went  out ! 

We  had  hardly  entered  the  ruined  streets  of  Seddel  Bahr 
before  a  shell  screamed  into  the  village  and  burst  with  a  deafen- 
ing explosion  in  a  house,  whose  walls  went  up  in  a  volcano  of 
dust  and  stones. 

^'Asiatic  Annie !"  we  both  said,  at  once  and  in  unison. 

For  all  of  us  knew  the  evil  reputation  of  Asiatic  Annie — ^that 
large  gun,  safely  tucked  away  in  the  blue  hills  of  Asia,  who 
lobbed  her  shells — ^a  seven-mile  throw — over  the  Straits  on  to 
the  shores  of  Cape  Helles — a  mischievous  old  lady,  who  de- 
lighted in  being  the  plague  of  the  Beaches. 

"If  Asiatic  Annie  is  going  to  begin,"  said  Doe,  "we'll  have 
important  business  elsewhere.  Hurry  on.  We're  going  to  find 
White's  grave." 

To  get  from  Seddel  Bahr  to  Fusilier  Bluff  it  was  necessary 
to  cross  diagonally  the  whole  of  the  Helles  sector.  There  lay 
before  us  a  long  walk  over  a  dusty,  scrub-covered  plateau, 
every  yard  of  which  was  a  yard  of  battlefield  and  overspread 
with  the  litter  of  battles.  This  red  earth,  which,  when  the 
Army  first  arrived,  was  garnished  with  grass  and  flowers, 
groves,  and  vineyards,  was  now  beaten  by  thousands  of  feet 
into  a  hard,  dry  drill-ground,  where,  here  and  there,  blasted 
trees  stood  like  calvaries  against  the  sky.  The  grass  resembled 
patches  of  fur  on  a  mangy  skin.  The  birds,  which  seemed  to 
revel  in  the  excitements  of  war,  soared  and  swept  over  the 
devastated  tableland.    Northward  from  our  feet  stretched  this 


294  Tell  England  book  h 

plateau  of  scarecrow  trees,  till  it  began  to  incline  in  a  gentle 
rise,  and  finally  met  the  sky  in  the  summit  of  Achi  Baba.  That 
was  the  whole  landscape — a  plateau  overlooked  by  a  gentle  hill. 

And  here  on  this  sea-girt  headland  the  land-fight  had  been 
fought.  No  wonder  the  region  was  covered  with  the  scars  and 
waste  of  war.  Our  journey  took  us  past  old  trenches  and  gun- 
positions;  disused  telephone  lines  and  rusting,  barbed  wire; 
dead  mules,  scattered  cemeteries,  and  solitary  graves. 

And  not  a  grave  did  we  pass  without  examining  it  to  see  if  it 
bore  the  name  of  White.  Our  progress,  therefore,  was  very 
slow,  for,  like  highwaymen,  these  graves  held  us  up  and  bade 
us  stand  and  inquire  if  they  housed  our  friend.  Whenever  we 
saw  an  isolated  cross  some  distance  away,'  we  left  our  tracks 
to  approach  it,  anxious  not  to  pass,  lest  this  were  he.  And 
then,  quite  unexpectedly,  we  came  upon  twenty  graves  side  by 
side  under  one  over-arching  tree,  which  bore  the  legend :  "Pink 
Farm  Cemetery."    And  Doe  said: 

"There  it  is,  Rupert." 

He  said  it  with  deliberate  carelessness,  as  if  to  show  that  he 
was  one  not  easily  excited  by  sudden  surprises. 

"Where — where?"  I  asked. 

"There— 'Lieutenant  R.  White,  Royal  Dublin  Fusiliers.' " 

"Good  Lord !"  I  muttered :  for  it  was  true.  We  had  walked 
right  on  to  the  grave  of  our  friend.  His  name  stood  on  a  cross 
with  those  of  six  other  officers,  and  beneath  was  written  in 
pencil  the  famous  epitaph : 

"Tell    England,   ye   who  pass  this  monument, 
We  died  for  her,  and  here  we  rest  content." 

The  perfect  words  went  straight  to  Doe's  heart. 
"Roop,"  he  said,  "if  I'm  killed  you  can  put  those  lines  over 
me. 

I  fear  I  could  not  think  of  anything  very  helpful  to  reply. 
"They  are  rather  swish,"  I  murmured. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"live  deep,  and  let  the  lesser  things  live  long" 

§  I 

ONE  thing  I  shall  always  believe,  and  it  is  that  Doe  found 
on  the  Peninsula  that  intense  life,  that  life  of  multiplied 
sensations,  which  he  always  craved  in  the  days  when  he  said: 
'*I  want  to  have  lived/' 

You  would  understand  what  I  mean  if  you  could  have  seen 
this  Brigade  Bombing  Officer  of  ours  hurling  his  bombs  at  a 
gentleman  whom  he  called  "the  jolly  old  Turk/'  Generally  he 
threw  them  with  a  jest  on  his  lips.  "One  hundred  and  two. 
One  hundred  and  three/'  he  would  say.  "Over  she  goes,  and 
thank  the  Lord  Fm  not  in  the  opposite  trench.  BANG!  I 
told  you  so.  Stretcher-bearers  for  the  Turks,  please."  Or  he 
would  hurl  the  bomb  high  into  the  air,  so  that  it  burst  above 
the  enemy  like  a  rocket  or  a  star-shell.  He  would  blow  a  long 
whistle,  as  it  shot  skyward,  and  say  "PLONK  !*'  as  it  exploded 
into  a  shower  of  splinters. 

For  Doe  was  young  and  effervescing  with  life.  He  enjoyed 
himself,  and  his  bombers  enjoyed  him  as  their  officer.  Every- 
body, in  fact,  enjoyed  Edgar  Doe. 

In  these  latter  days  the  gifted  youth  had  suddenly  discovered 
that  all  things  French  were  perfect.  Gone  were  the  days  of 
classical  elegancies.  Doe  read  only  French  novels  which  he 
borrowed  from  Pierre  Poilu  at  Seddel  Bahr. 

And  why?  Because  they  knew  how  to  live,  ces  frangais. 
They  lived  deeply,  and  felt  deeply,  with  their  lovely  emotion- 
alism. They  ate  and  drank  learnedly.  They  suffered,  sym- 
pathised, and  loved,  always  deeply.  They  were  hons  viveurs, 
in  the  intensest  meaning  of  the  words.  "They  live,  they  live.'* 
And  because  of  this,  his  spiritual  home  was  in  France.  "You 
English,"  said  he,  ''vous  autres  anglais,  with  your  damned  un- 

295 


296  Tell  England  book  n 

emotionalism,  empty  your  lives  of  spiritual  experience:  for 
emotion  is  life,  and  all  that's  interesting  in  life  is  spiritual 
incident.     But  the  French,  they  live!" 

He  even  wrote  a  poem  about  the  faith  which  he  had  found, 
and  started  to  declaim  it  to  me  one  night  in  our  little  dug-out, 
^'Seaview": 

*Tor  all  emotions  that  are  tense  and  strong, 
And  utmost  knowledge,  I  have  lived  for  these — 
Lived  deep,  and  let  the  lesser  things  live  long. 
The  everlasting  hills,  the  lakes,  the  trees, 
Who'd  give  their  thousand  years  to  sing  this  song 
Of  Life,  and  Man's  high  sensibilities 

"Yes,  Roop,  living  through  war  is  living  deep.  If  s  crowded, 
glorious  living.  If  Fd  never  had  a  shell  rush  at  me  I'd  never 
have  known  the  swift  thrill  of  approaching  death — which  is  a 
wonderful  sensation  not  to  be  missed.  If  I'd  never  known  the 
shock  of  seeing  sudden  death  at  my  side,  I'd  have  missed  a 
terribly  wonderful  thing.  They  say  music's  the  most  evocative 
art  in  the  world,  but,  sacre  nom  de  dieu,  they  hadn't  counted 
the  orchestra  of  a  bombardment.  That's  music  at  ten  thousand 
pounds  a  minute.  And  if  I'd  not  heard  that,  I'd  never  have 
known  what  it  is  to  have  my  soul  drawn  out  of  me  by  the 
maddening  excitement  of  an  intensive  bombardment.  And — 
and,  que  voulez-vousy  I  have  killed  T 

"Hm !"  muttered  I.  He  was  too  clever  for  me,  but  I  loved 
him  in  his  scintillating  moments. 

''Tien\s,  if  I'm  knocked  out,  it's  at  least  the  most  wonderful 
death.    It's  the  deepest  death." 

I  laughed  deprecatingly. 

"Oh,  I'm  resigned  to  the  idea,"  he  pursued.  "It's  more 
probable  than  improbable.  Sooner  or  later.  Tant  va  la  cruche 
a  Veau  qu'  a  la  fin  eile  se  cassef 

'Tawf— 'aunt,' "  thought  I.  "F(^~'goes.'  La  cruche— 'th^ 
crust.'  Qu'  CL  la  fin  elle  se  casse/'  And  I  said  aloud :  "I've 
got  it !  *Aunt  goes  for  the  crust  at  the  water,  into  which,  in 
fine,  she  casts  herself.' " 

"No,"  corrected  Doe,  looking  away  from  me  wistfully  and 
self-consciously.  "  The  pitcher  goes  so  often  to  the  well  that 
at  last  it  is  broken.'  " 


PAHT  H  "Live  Deep"  297 


§2 

About  this  time  the  great  blizzard  broke  over  GallipoH.  On 
the  last  Sunday  in  November  I  awoke,  feeling  like  iced  chicken, 
to  learn  that  the  blizzard  had  begun.  It  was  still  dark,  and  the 
snow  was  being  driven  along  by  the  wind,  so  that  it  flew  nearly 
parallel  with  the  ground,  and  clothed  with  mantles  of  white 
all  the  scrub  that  opposed  its  onrush.  This  morning  only  did 
the  wild  Peninsula  look  beautiful.  But  its  whiteness  was  that 
of  a  whited  sepulchre.  Never  before  had  it  been  so  mercilessly 
cruel.  For  now  was  opening  the  notorious  blizzard  that  should 
strike  down  hundreds  with  frost-bite,  and  drown  in  their 
trenches  Turks  and  Britons  alike. 

It  was  freezing — freezing.  The  water  in  our  canvas  buckets 
froze  into  solid  cakes  of  ice,  which  we  hewed  out  with  pickaxes 
and  kicked  about  like  footballs.  And  all  the  guns  stopped 
speaking.  No  more  was  heard  the  whip-crack  of  a  rifle,  nor 
the  rapid,  crisp,  unintelligent  report  of  a  machine-gun.  Fingers 
of  friend  and  foe  were  too  numbed  to  fire.  An  Arctic  silence 
settled  upon  Gallipoli. 

And  yet  I  remember  the  first  day  of  the  blizzard  as  a  day  of 
glowing  things.  For  on  the  previous  night  I  had  read  in 
Battalion  Orders  that  I  was  to  be  Captain  Ray.  And  so,  this 
piercing  morning,  I  could  go  out  into  the  blizzard  with  three 
stars  on  my  shoulders.  With  Gallipoli  suddenness  I  had  leapt 
into  this  exalted  rank,  while  Doe,  a  more  brilliant  officer, 
remained  only  a  Second  Lieutenant.  For  him,  as  a  specialist, 
there  was  no  promotion.  For  me,  no  sooner  had  my  O.C. 
Company  been  buried  alive  by  the  explosion  of  a  Turkish  mine, 
and  his  second-in-command  gone  sick  with  dysentery,  than  I, 
the  next  senior  though  only  nineteen,  was  given  the  rank  of 
Acting  Captain.  And  Doe,  always  most  generous  when  most 
jealous,  had  been  profuse  in  his  congratulations. 

I  confess  that  not  even  the  hail,  with  its  icy  bite,  could  spoil 
the  glow  which  I  felt  in  being  Captain  Ray.  I  walked  along  my 
company  front,  behind  parapets  massed  with  snow,  to  have  a 
look  at  the  men  of  my  command.  All  these  lads  with  the 
chattering  lips — lads  from  twenty  to  forty  years  old — were 


298  Tell  England  book  n 

mine  to  do  what  I  liked  with.  They  were  my  family — my 
children.    And  I  would  be  a  father  to  them. 

And  when,  at  the  end  of  my  inspection,  a  shivering  post 
corporal  put  into  my  hands  a  letter  addressed  by  my  mother  to 
2nd-Lieut.  R.  Ray,  I  delighted  to  think  how  out-of-date  she 
was,  and  how  I  must  enlighten  her  at  once  on  the  correct 
method  of  addressing  her  son.  I  would  do  it  that  day,  so  that 
she  might  have  opportunities  of  writing  "Capt.  Ray."  For  one 
never  knew :  some  unpleasantly  senior  person  might  come  along 
and  take  to  himself  my  honourable  rank. 

I  seized  the  letter  and  hurried  home  to  our  dug-out.  Doe 
was  already  in  possession  of  his  mail,  so,  having  wrapped  our- 
selves in  blankets  to  defeat  the  polar  atmosphere,  we  crouched 
over  a  smoking  oil-stove  and  read  our  letters. 

I  was  the  first  to  break  a  long  silence. 

"Really,''  I  said,  "Mother's  rather  sweet.    Listen  to  this : — 

"  'Rupert,  I  had  such  a  shock  yesterday.  I  heard  the 
postman's  knock,  which  always  frightens  me.  I  picked  up  a 
long,  blue  envelope,  stamped  "War  Office."  Oh,  my  heart 
stood  still.  I  went  into  my  bedroom,  and  tried  to  compose 
myself  to  break  the  envelope.  Then  I  asked  my  new  maid 
to  come  and  be  with  me  when  I  opened  it.  After  she  had 
arrived,  I  said  a  prayer  that  all  might  be  well  with  you. 
Then  I  opened  it :  and,  Rupert,  it  was  only  your  Commission 
as  2nd  Lieutenant  arriving  a  year  late.  Oh,  I  went  straight 
to  church  and  gave  thanks !'  " 

Doe  gazed  into  the  light  of  the  oil-stove. 

"The  dear,  good,  beautiful  woman !"  he  said. 

And  so  it  is  that  the  famous  blizzard  carries  with  it  two 
glowing  memories :  the  one,  my  promotion  to  Captain's  rank ; 
the  other,  the  sudden  arrival  of  my  mother's  letter  like  a  sea- 
gull out  of  a  storm.  Her  loving  words  threw  about  me,  during 
.the  appalling  conditions  of  the  afternoon,  an  atmosphere  of 
England.  And,  when  in  the  biting  night  our  elevated  home  was 
quiet  under  the  stars,  and  Doe  and  I  were  rolled  up  in  our 
blankets,  I  was  quite  pleased  to  find  him  disposed  to  be  senti- 
mental. 

"I've  cold  feet  to-night,"  he  grumbled.    "Roll  on  Peace,  and 


PART  II  '^Live  Deep''  299 

a  passage  home.  Lef^  cheer  ourselves  up  by  thinking  of  the 
first  dinner  we'll  have  when  we  get  back  to  England.  Allans, 
ril  begin  with  turtle  soup." 

*'And  a  glass  of  sherry,"  added  I  from  my  pillow. 

"Then,  I  think,  turbot  and  white  sauce." 

''Good  enough,"  I  agreed,  ''and  we'll  trifle  with  the  wing  of 
a  fowl." 

"Two  cream  buns  for  sweets,"  continued  the  Brigade  Bomb- 
ing Officer,  "or  possibly  three.  And  fruit  salad.  Ah,  mon 
dieu,  que  c'est  beau!'' 

"And  a  piece  of  Stilton  on  a  sweet  biscuit,"  suggested  the 
Captain  of  D  Company,  "with  a  glass  of  port." 

"Yes,"  conceded  the  Bombing  Officer,  "and  then  cafe  noir, 
and  an  Abdulla  No.  5  in  the  arm-chair.  Sapristi!  isn't  it  cold  ?" 
He  turned  round  sulkily  in  his  bed.  "If  it's  like  this  to-morrow 
I  shan't  get  up — no,  not  if  Gladys  Cooper  comes  to  wake  me." 

So  he  dropped  off  to  sleep.  .  .  .  And,  with  Doe  asleep,  I 
can  say  that  to  which  I  have  been  leading  up.  Always  before 
the  war  I  used  to  think  forced  and  exaggerated  those  pictures 
which  showed  the  soldier  in  his  uniform,  sleeping  on  the  field 
near  the  piled  arms,  and  suggested,  by  a  vision  painted  on  the 
canvas,  that  his  dreams  were  of  his  hearth  and  loved  ones.  But 
I  know  now  of  a  certain  Captain-fellow,  who,  on  that  first 
night  of  the  blizzard,  after  he  had  received  a  letter  from  his 
mother,  dreamt  long  and  fully  of  friends  in  England,  awaking 
at  times  to  find  himself  lying  on  a  lofty  wild  Bluff,  and  falling 
off  to  sleep  again  to  continue  dreams  of  home. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  NINETEENTH  OF  DECEMBER 
§   I 

THE  grand  incident  in  the  last  act  of  the  Gallipoli  Campaign 
— the  grand  motif — was  the  Germans'  successful  break 
through  Servia.  They  had  driven  their  corridor  from  Central 
Europe  through  Servia  to  Constantinople;  and,  for  all  we 
knew,  the  might  of  Germany  in  men  and  guns  were  pouring 
down  it.  Of  course  they  were  coming;  they  must  come. 
Never  had  the  generals  of  Germany  so  fine  an  opportunity  of 
destroying  the  British  Divisions  that  languished  at  Suvla  and 
Helles.  What  chance  had  the  Haughty  Islanders  now  of 
escaping?  The  wintry  storms  were  already  cutting  their  frail 
line  of  communications  by  sea,  and  smashing  up  their  miserable 
jetties  on  the  beaches.  The  plot  should  unravel  simply.  The 
German-Turk  combine  would  attack  in  force,  and  the  British, 
unable  to  escape,  would  either  surrender  or,  in  good  Roman 
style,  die  fighting. 

We  knew  the  Germans  were  coming.  When  the  blizzard 
rolled  away  and  left  behind  a  glorious  December,  we  began  to 
hear  their  new  guns  throbbing  on  the  distant  Suvla  front. 
Doubtless  more  guns  were  rumbling  along  the  streets  of  Con- 
stantinople, and  troops  concentrating  in  its  squares.  They 
were  out  for  the  biggest  victory  of  the  Central  Empires  since 
Tannenberg.  Six  divisions  from  Suvla  and  four  from  Helles 
would  be  a  good  day's  bag.  Perhaps  the  Turks  were  not 
without  pity  for  the  tough  little  British  Divisions  that,  de- 
pleted, exhausted,  and  unreinforced,  lay  at  their  mercy  on  the 
extremities  of  the  Gallipoli  Peninsula. 

We  knew  they  were  coming,  and  joked  about  it. 

"It's  getting  distinctly  interesting,  Captain  Ray,"  said  Doe, 

300 


PART  II        The  Nineteenth  of  December  801 

as  we  sat  drinking  tea  in  Monty's  dug-out  in  the  Eski  Line.  *1 
say,  give  me  a  decent  funeral,  won't  you  ?" 

'*We  shan't  bury  you,"  answered  Monty  unpleasantly.  "We 
shall  put  you  on  the  incinerator." 

"If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  shall  swim  for  it,"  said  I, 
always  conceited  on  this  point.  "It'll  only  be  a  few  miles  easy 
going,  in  this  gorgeous  December  weather,  from  Gully  Beach 
to  Imbros." 

"But,  au  serieux/'  continued  the  picturesque  Doe,  "do  you 
realise  that  this  is  December,  191 5,  and  we  shall  probably  never 
see  the  year  of  grace  1916?  Damned  funny,  Captain  Ray, 
isn't  it?" 

"Don't  be  so  romantic  and  treacly,"  retorted  Monty.  "You'll 
do  nothing  heroic.  You'll  just  march  down  to  W  Beach  and 
get  on  a  boat  and  sail  away.  There's  going  to  be  some  sort  of 
evacuation,  I'm  sure.  They've  cleared  the  hospitals  at  Alex- 
andria and  Malta,  and  ordered  every  hospital  ship  in  the  world 
to  lie  off  the  Peninsula  empty.  They  are  prepared  for  twenty 
thousand  casualties." 

"Yes,"  agreed  I,  "and,  as  there  are  no  reinforcements,  it 
can't  mean  a  big  advance,  so  it  must  mean  a  big  retreat. 
There's  nothing  to  bellyache  about.  We're  going  to  evacuate, 
praise  be  to  Allah !" 

"Oh,  try  not  to  be  foolish,  Captain  Ray,"  returned  Doe  im- 
patiently. "Have  you  been  so  long  on  this  cursed  Peninsula 
without  knowing  that  we  couldn't  evacuate  Suvla  without  being 
seen  from  Sari  Bair,  nor  Helles  without  being  seen  from  Achi 
Baba  ?  And,  directly  the  jolly  old  Turk  saw  us  quitting,  he,  and 
the  whole  German  army,  and  Ludendorff,  would  stream  down 
and  massacre  us  as  we  ran.  We'd  want  every  man  for  a  rear- 
guard action  to  hold  them  off.    The  bally  thing's  impossible.'^ 

"Well,  we  did  the  impossible  in  getting  on  to  the  Peninsula," 
put  in  Monty,  "and  we  shall  probably  do  the  impossible  in 
getting  off.    Besides,  not  even  Turks  can  see  at  night." 

"That's  all  very  fine,"  rejoined  the  lively  youth.  "But  the 
impossible  landing  was  done  by  the  grandest  Division  in  his- 
tory, when  they  were  up  to  full  strength.  Now  our  divisions 
are  jaded  and  done  for.  Besides,  only  one  'army  could  get 
away.  Even  if  the  Suvla  crowd  did  effect  a  surprise  escape, 
the  Turk  would  see  to  it  that  the  Helles  mob  didn't  repeat  the 


302  Tell  England  book  n 

performance.  Our  Staff  would  have  to  sacrifice  one  army  for 
the  other.  And,  as  the  Suvla  army  is  bigger  than  ours,  they'd 
sacrifice  us  for  a  certainty.  So  cheer  up,  and  don't  be  so 
damned  miserable.'' 

''Oh,  well,"  said  Monty,  refilling  Doe's  cup.  "Let  us  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we  die." 

Doe  lifted  up  the  mug  to  toast  his  host. 

''Morituri  te  scdutamtis/'  he  said,  and  out  of  his  abounding 
spirits  began  to  sing  : 

"The  Germans  are  coming,  oh  dear,  oh  dear, 
The  Germans  are  coming,  oh  can't  you  hear?" 


§2 

And  amid  all  this  speculation  on  Helles,  there  came  sud- 
denly a  rumour  that,  so  far  from  the  Turks  attacking  us,  our 
whole  line  was  about  to  assume  the  offensive  and  move  for- 
ward. This  was  a  mere  angel's  whisper  one  morning:  by  the 
afternoon  it  had  blown  like  a  dust-drive  into  every  dug-out. 

It's  a  good  rule,  my  friends  who  shall  fight  the  next  war,  if 
you  want  to  know  the  secrets  about  a  forthcoming  attack, 
always  to  ask  the  padre.  He  is  the  rumour-merchant  of  the 
fighting  army.  And  Monty  was  no  exception.  Directly  the 
strange  rumour  reached  the  Eski  Line,  Monty  busied  himself 
tapping  every  source  for  more  detailed  information. 

First  he  inquired  of  the  Battalion  Intelligence  Officer  whether 
there  were  anything  reliable  in  this  talk  of  an  imminent  attack. 
Intelligence  nodded  its  head,  as  much  as  to  say:  "I've  prom- 
ised that  not  a  breath  of  it  shall  leave  my  lips,  but "    Well, 

Intelligence  nodded  his  head. 

Then,  on  another  occasion,  the  Quartermaster,  having  just 
returned  from  Ordnance  (where  they  know  everything), 
looked  a  profoundly  sinister  look  at  Monty,  and  said : 

"They're  going  to  keep  you  busy  shortly." 

**What,  a  show  on  ?"  asked  Monty  hypocritically. 

"Yes,  some  stunt — some  stunt.  But  don't  know  anything* 
about  it." 

Next  Monty  was  at  Divisional   Signals    (always   a  well- 


PART  II        The  Nineteenth  of  December  303 

informed  and  cracular  body),  who  said  they  supposed  he  knew 
there  would  be  very  little  opportunity  for  Divine  Service  on 
Sunday. 

"You  mean,"  said  he,  with  brutal  plainness,  "that  this  beastly 
attack  is  fixed  for  Sunday." 

"Now,  nobody  said  that,"  was  the  reply.  "But  take  it  from 
us  that  on  Sunday  your  men  will  be  too  busy  parading  for  other 
purposes  than  for  Divine  Service.  Strictly  on  the  Q.T.,  of 
course." 

The  same  day  at  the  Bombing  School  Monty  found  but  one 
subject  of  conversation. 

"It'll  be  the  stickiest  thing  weVe  had  for  some  time,  as  our- 
selves, the  Scotties,  and  the  French  are  all  involved  in  it.  Your 
people,  the  East  Cheshires,  are  going  over  at  Fusilier  Bluif, 
after  weVe  blown  up  a  huge  mine.  Their  Brigade  Bombers 
are  going  to  occupy  the  crater.  But,  of  course,  mum's  the 
word." 

Lastly,  Monty  held  mysterious  communion  with  my  sergeant- 
major,  a  wonderful  cockney  humorist,  who  possessed  the  truth 
on  all  points.  As  far  as  Fusilier  Bluif  was  concerned,  said  he, 
the  attack  was  an  effort  to  reach  and  destroy  the  terrible  whizz- 
bang  gun.  It  was  believed  that  the  gun's  location  was  in  a 
nullah  where  its  dump  of  ammunition  was  inaccessible  to  our 
artillery.  Only  bombers  could  reach  it.  So  they  were  going  to 
blow  up  a  mine  of  570  pounds  of  ammonel,  and  the  bombers, 
supported  by  the  infantry,  were  going  to  rush  for  the  crater. 
From  the  crater  they  would  sally  forth  and  reach  the  gun. 
"And  glory  be  to  Gawd,"  concluded  the  sergeant-major  piously, 
"that  I  ain't  a  bomber." 


§3 

On  the  eve  of  the  attack  Doe  and  I  were  in  our  dug-out 
discussing  what  part  the  CO.  would  allot  us  in  the  opera- 
tion, when  an  orderly  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Brigade  Bombing  Officer  here,  sir?"  he  asked,  saluting. 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Doe. 

"The  CO.  wants  to  see  you  at  once,  sir." 

Doe  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "Quand  on  parte  du  loup, 


304  Tell  England  book  n 

on  en  voie  le  queue.  Now  we  shall  hear  something."  And 
he  followed  the  orderly. 

A  trifle  jealous,  I  awaited  his  return.  He  came  back  with 
joy  sparkling  in  his  eyes — how  far  assumed  I  know  not — and, 
flinging  himself  down  on  a  box,  cried:  "Rupert,  the  show 
in  this  sector  is  my  show!  They're  going  to  blow  up  the 
jolly  old  mine;  and  the  minute  it  goes  up  Fve  got  to  take  the 
bombers  over  the  top  and  occupy  the  crater.  Then,  if  I  think 
it  possible,  Fm  to  go  further  forward  to  the  whizz-bang  gun 
and  blow  it  into  the  middle  of  the  next  war.  Voyez-vous,  they 
know  they've  a  competent  young  officer  in  charge  of  the  bomb- 
ers. Rupert,  we  shall  not  stay  long  in  the  crater.  And,  if 
you  please,  the  CO.  wishes  to  see  Captain  Ray  immediately.'' 

"Which  means  Fm  for  it  too,"  said  I,  as  I  went  out. 

The  CO.  explained  my  share.  I  was  to  take  over  all  my 
company  and  capture  the  trenches  on  the  right  of  the  crater. 
On  capturing  them,  I  was  to  open  a  covering  fire  to  enable 
the  bombers  to  go  further  forward.  A  similar  move  was 
being  made  by  B  Company  on  the  bombers'  left.  In  short, 
a  wedge  was  being  driven  into  the  Turkish  line,  and  the 
point  of  the  wedge — Doe's  bombing  party — was  to  penetrate 
to  the  gun-position.  Both  my  task  and  Doe's  were  dam-dan- 
gerous, said  the  Colonel,  but  Doe's  was  the  damnedest.  On 
the  effectiveness  of  my  flanking  support  might  depend  his  life 
and  the  success  of  the  raid.    Did  I  see? 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  hour  of  the  attack  was  not  known,  he  explained  Since 
the  whole  Helles  line  was  moving,  the  final  order  must  come 
from  G.H.Q.  But  everybody  was  to  be  armed  and  ready 
in  the  trenches  by  dawn.  .  .  .  And  .  .  .  well,  good  evening, 
Ray. 

It  was  about  dusk.  I  returned  to  the  dug-out,  and  by  candle- 
light wrote  out  my  company  orders.  Then  Doe  and  I  de- 
cided that  we  ought  to  put  together  a  few  letters.  And  Doe 
tossed  his  pencil  gaily  into  the  air  and  caught  it.  The  action 
was  to  cover  with  a  veneer  of  merriness  a  question  which  it 
embarrassed  him  to  ask. 

"Oughtn't  we  to  make  a  jolly  old  will?" 

"Sure  thing,"  agreed  I,  in  imitation  of  him.  "It'll  be  rather 
fun." 


PAET  II        The  Nineteenth  of  December  305 


§4 

Soon  after  Battalion  Orders  were  out,  Monty  came  and 
sat  down  in  our  dug-out.  We  had  known  he  would  come,  and 
our  reception  of  him  was  planned.  Doe,  whose  affected  gaiety 
had  begun  to  give  place  to  a  certain  wistfulness  as  the  dark- 
ness fell,  spoke  first : 

"JD'you  remember  telling  us  one  night  on  the  Rangoon  about 
some  fellows  who — who — gave  you  their  wills  the  day  before 
an  attack?*' 

Monty  turned  his  head,  and  started  to  frown  through  the 
dug-out  door  at  the  still  ^gean  Sea. 

^^Yes,"  he  said. 

"Well,  Rupert  and  I  thought  that  we'd — that  p'raps  you'd 
look  after  these  envelopes,  in  case " 

"Oh,  damn!"  said  Monty.  I  had  never  heard  him  swear 
before,  but  I  knew  that  in  the  word  his  big  heart  spoke.  Doe 
still  held  our  envelopes  towards  his  averted  face,  and  at  last 
he  took  them  silently. 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  said  Doe. 

"Thanks,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  shut  up!"  Monty  grumbled,  and 
started  whistling  unconsciously.  Immediately  in  my  mind  the 
words  "Dismiss  me  not  thy  service,  Lord"  framed  themselves 
to  the  tune,  and  conjured  up  a  vision  of  the  smoking  room 
of  the  Rcmgoon  and  its  decks  by  starlight.  Abruptly  Monty 
broke  off,  and  said,  still  frowning  at  the  sea : 

"Since  those  days  you've  been  fairly  loyal  sons  of  the  Church. 
Aren't  you  going  to  use  her  before  to-morrow  ?  To-night's  a 
more  literal  Vigil  than  that  voyage.  Can't  I — aren't  you  going 
to  use  me  ?" 

It  was  the  old  Monty  of  the  Rangoon  speaking. 

"We'd  thought  about  it,"  answered  Doe,  reddening. 

"I  so  want,"  murmured  Monty,  "to  be  of  use  to  all  the 
fellows  who  are  going  over  the  top  to-morrow.  But  they 
don't  understand.  They  don't  think  of  me  as  a  priest  with 
something  to  do  for  them  that  nobody  else  can  do.  They 
think  I've  done  my  job  when  I've  had  a  hymn-singing  service, 


306  Tell  England  book  n 

and  preached  to  them.  .  .  .  And  all  the  time  I  want  to  ab- 
solve them.    I  want  to  send  them  into  the  fight — white.'' 

No  word  came  from  us  to  break  a  long  pause.  We  had 
become  again  those  listening  people  of  Rangoon  nights. 

"But  you  understand,"  he  recommenced.  "And,  if  you'll 
come  to  your  Confession,  I'll  at  least  have  done  something 
for  somebody  before  this  scrap.  Rupert,  you  can  thank 
Heaven  you  don't  feel  as  I  do — that  you've  nothing  positive 
to  do  to-morrow — that  you're  not  pulling  your  weight.  I 
shall  just  skulk  about,  like  a  dog  worrying  the  heels  of  an 
attack." 

"Rot!"  said  Doe.    "You've  done  wonders  for  the  men." 

"No,  I  haven't,  except  for  those  who  come  to  their  Mass 
and  Confession.  I've  held  no  services  a  layman  couldn't  hold, 
and  done  nothing  for  the  sick  a  hospital  orderly  couldn't  do. 
And  I  want  to  be  their  priest." 

"Well,  we'll  both  come  to-night." 

Monty  ceased  frowning  at  the  sea,  and  smilingly  turned 
towards  us. 

"You  may  think,"  he  said,  "that  I've  been  of  some  help 
to  you;  but  you  can  never  know  of  what  help  you  two  have 
been  to  me." 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  Doe,  tossing  a  pencil  into  the  air. 


§5 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  I  came  away  from  Monty's 
home  in  the  Eski  Line,  where  I  had  made  my  Confession. 
I  retain  an  impression  of  myself,  as  I  walked  homeward 
through  the  darkness,  moving  along  the  summits  above  Y 
Ravine.  I  was  listening  to  the  nervous  night-firing  of  the 
Turk,  who  was  apprehensive  of  something  in  the  morning,  and 
hearing  in  my  mind  Monty's  last  words :  "Forget  those  things 
which  are  behind,  and  press  towards  the  mark  of  your  high 
calling." 

Walking  along  the  Peninsula  at  night  being  always  a  gloomy 
matter,  I  was  glad  to  arrive  at  the  dug-out,  where  Doe  was 
already  under  his  blankets.  I  lay  down  and  spent  a  long 
time  battling  with  my  mind  to  prevent  it  keeping  me  awake  by 


PART  II        The  Nineteenth  of  December  307 

too  active  thinking.  For,  if  only  I  could  drop  off  into  uncon- 
sciousness, I  had  the  chance  of  sleeping  till  an  hour  before 
the  dawn. 

§6 

There  is  something  depressing  in  being  called  while  it 
is  still  dark,  and  being  obliged  to  dress  by  artificial  light.  As 
I  laced  my  boots  by  the  flame  of  the  candle  in  the  dusk  before 
the  dawn,  I  felt  a  sensation  I  used  to  experience  at  school,  when 
they  lit  the  class-room  gas  in  the  early  twilight  of  a  winter 
afternoon — a  sensation  of  the  sadness  and  futility  of  all  things. 

I  awoke  Doe,  and  could  tell,  as  he  sat  up,  rubbing  his  eyes 
and  yawning,  that  returning  memory  was  filling  his  mind 
with  speculation  as  to  what  unthinkable  things  the  morning 
might  hold  in  its  womb.  With  the  feigned  gaiety  of  the  day 
before  he  flung  off  his  blankets,  and  said: 

"Well,  Roop,  it's  'over  the  top  and  the  best  of  luck'  for  us 
this  morning." 

''Strange  how  quiet  everything  is,"  I  replied.  "The  bom- 
bardment ought  to  have  started  before  this." 

"Yes,  it's  a  still  and  top-hole  morning."  Saying  this,  Doe 
went  to  the  dug-out  window  to  look  at  the  dawn.  The  mo- 
ment that  his  face  framed  itself  in  the  square  of  the  window, 
dawn,  coming  in  like  an  ^gean  sunset  with  a  violet  light,  lit 
up  his  half-profile,  throwing  into  clear  relief  the  familiar  fea- 
tures, and  dropping  a  brilliant  spark  into  each  of  his  wide,  con- 
templative eyes.  The  effect  was  a  thing  of  the  stage :  it  lent  him 
an  added  wistfulness,  and  I  felt  a  pang  of  pity  for  him,  and 
a  throb  of  something  not  lower  than  love.  He  walked  back  to 
his  bed,  whistling,  while  I  completed  my  preparations  by  fixing 
my  revolver  to  my  belt. 

"Well,  I'm  ready,"  I  said.  "I  must  go  and  look  at  my 
braves." 

"Don't  s'pose  I  shall  see  you  again,  then,  before  the  show," 
said  Doe,  pulling  on  his  boots  nonchalantly. 

"No.  We'll  compare  notes  in  the  captured  trenches  this 
evening." 

"Right  you  are.    Cheerioh !" 

"Chin-chin." 


308  Tell  England  book  n 

I  went  out,  reviewing  painful  possibilities.  In  the  trenches 
I  found  my  company  ''standing-to,"  armed  and  ready.  Know- 
ing that  idle  waiting  would  mean  suspense  and  agitation,  I 
went  about  overhauling  ammunition,  and  instructing  my  men 
on  the  exact  objectives  and  the  work  of  consolidation.  My 
restlessness  brought  back  vividly  that  day  when  I  had  suffered 
from  nerves  before  the  Bramhall-Erasmus  swimming  race. 
The  same  interior  hollowness  made  me  chafe  at  delay  and 
long  to  be  started — ^to  be  busied  in  the  excitement  of  action — 
to  be  looking  back  on  it  all  as  a  thing  of  the  past. 

The  morning  wore  on.  There  was  bustling  in  the  com- 
munication trenches,  pack-mules  bringing  up  ammunition,  and 
men  shouldering  cases  of  bombs.  At  ten  o'clock  the  CO. 
came  round  the  line.  Now  that  the  imminence  of  the  attack 
had  made  unpleasantly  real  his  duty  of  sending  us  over  the 
top,  he  had  grown  quite  fatherly.  "Don't  get  killed,"  he  said. 
"I  can't  spare  any  of  you — battalion  dam-depleted  already. 
...  Is  there  anything  you  wish  to  ask,  my  boy?" 

''Yes,  sir.  I  want  to  know  what  time  it  begins,  and  what 
exactly  it's  all  about." 

*'At  two  o'clock,"  he  replied.  *'The  mine  goes  up  then. 
But  what  it's  all  about  I  know  no  more  than  you  do.  Per- 
sonally, I  think  it  is  to  cover  some  operations  at  Suvla.  The 
Staff  is  obviously  so  dam-anxious  to  let  the  Turk  know  we're 
going  to  attack,  that  I'm  sure  this  is  a  diversion  intended  to 
keep  the  Turk's  Helles  army  occupied,  and  prevent  it  rein- 
forcing Suvla.  Go  and  have  a  look  from  the  Bluff  out  to  sea, 
and  observe  how  well  the  show  is  being  advertised.  There 
may  be  reason  for  this  ostentation,  but  it's  dam-awkward  for 
my  lads,  who'll  have  to  run  up  against  a  well-prepared  enemy." 

"But  s'posing  it  means  they're  going  to  evacuate  Suvla,  and 
leave  us  to  our  fate,  what'll  be  our  position  on  Helles  then, 
sir?" 

"Well,  we  shall  be  like  the  rearguard  that  covered  the  re- 
treat at  Mons — heroes,  but  mostly  dead  ones." 

"Good  Lord!"  thought  I,  as  the  CO.  turned  away.  "We 
shall  be  lonely  on  Helles  to-night  if  we  hear  that  the  Suvla 
Army  has  left  for  England." 

I  went,  as  he  suggested,  to  glance  at  the  preparations  on  the 
sea.    I  saw  a  string  of  devilish  monitors,  solemnly  taking  up 


PART  II         The  Nineteenth  of  December  309 

their  position  between  Imbros  and  our  eastern  coast.  De- 
stroyers lay  round  the  Peninsula  like  a  chain  of  black  rulers. 
A  great  airship  was  sailing  towards  us.  From  Imbros  and 
Tenedos  aeroplanes  were  rising  high  in  the  sky. 

The  Turk,  wide  awake  to  these  preliminaries,  was  firing 
shrapnel  at  the  aircraft  overhead,  and  hurling  towards  the  de- 
stroyers his  high-explosive  shells,  which  tossed  up  water- 
spouts in  the  sea.    The  whizz-bang  gun  spat  continuously. 

"You  won't  spit  after  to-night,'*  I  mused,  "if  Doe  reaches 
you." 

And,  from  all  I  knew  of  Doe  and  his  passion  for  the  heroic, 
I  felt  assured  that  he  would  never  stay  in  the  crater  like  a 
diffident  batsman  in  his  block.  He  would  reach  the  opposite 
crease,  or  be  run  out. 

"He'll  get  there.    He'll  get  there,"  I  told  myself  persistently. 


§7 

The  attack  having  been  postponed  till  two  o'clock,  Monty 
held  an  open-air  Communion  Service  in  Trolley  Ravine.  The 
CO.,  myself,  and  a  few  others  stole  half  an  Hour  to  attend 
it.  This  day  was  the  last  Sunday  in  Advent,  and  a  morning 
peace,  such  as  reminded  us  of  English  Sundays,  brooded  over 
Gallipoli.  Save  for  the  distant  and  intermittent  firing  of 
the  Turk,  everything  was  very  still,  and  Monty  had  no  need 
to  raise  his  voice.  The  Collect  was  probably  being  read  thus 
softly  at  a  number  of  tiny  services  dotted  about  the  hills  of 
Helles  and  Suvla.  Never  shall  I  hear  it  again  without  think- 
ing of  the  last  pages  of  the  Gallipoli  story,  and  of  that  Advent 
Sunday  of  big  decisions.  "O  Lord,  raise  up  thy  power,  and 
come  among  us  .  .  .  that,  whereas  we  are  sore  let  and  hindered 
in  running  the  race  that  is  set  before  us,  Thy  bountiful  mercy 
may  speedily  help  and  deliver  us."  Like  an  answer  to  prayer 
came  the  words  of  the  Epistle:  "Rejoice.  .  .  .  The  Lord 
is  at  hand.  Be  anxious  for  nothing.  And  the  peace  of  God 
which  passeth  all  understanding  shall  keep  your  hearts  and 
minds."  Read  at  Monty's  service  in  Trolley  Ravine,  it  sounded 
like  a  Special  Order  of  the  Day.  I  remembered  what  the 
Colonel  had  hinted  about  Suvla,  and  wondered  whether  at 


310  Tell  England  book  ii 

similar  services  there  it  was  being  listened  to  like  a  last  mes- 
sage to  the  Suvla  Army. 

Not  long  had  I  returned  to  my  fire  trenches  before  our  bom- 
bardment opened.  The  shells  streamed  over,  seeming  about 
to  burst  in  our  own  trenches,  but  exploding  instead  the  other 
side  of  No  Man's  Land.  Distant  booms  told  us  that  the  Navy 
had  joined  in  the  quarrel.  The  awful  noise  of  the  bombard- 
ment, lying  so  low  on  our  heads,  and  the  deafening  detonations 
of  the  shells  disarrayed  all  my  thoughts.  My  temples  throbbed, 
my  ears  sang  and  whistled,  and  something  began  to  beat  and 
ache  at  the  back  of  my  head.  My  brain,  crowded  with  the 
bombardment,  had  room  for  only  two  clear  thoughts — the  one, 
that  I  was  standing  with  a  foot  on  the  firing-step,  my  revolver 
cocked  in  my  hand;  the  other,  that,  when  the  mine  gave  the 
grand  signal,  I  should  clamber  mechanically  over  the  para- 
pet and  rush  into  turmoil.  Hurry  up  with  that  mine — oh, 
hurry  up !  My  limbs  at  least  were  shivering  with  impatience  to 
be  over  and  away. 

A  great  report  set  the  air  vibrating;  the  voice  of  my  ser- 
geant-major shouted:  "It's  gone  up,  sir!"  a  burst  of  rapid 
rifle  and  machine-gun  fire,  spreading  all  along  the  line,  showed 
that  the  bombers  had  leapt  out  of  the  protection  of  the  trenches 
and  gone  over  the  parapet — and,  almost  before  I  had  appre- 
hended all  these  things,  I  had  scrambled  over  the  sand-bags, 
and  was  in  the  open  beneath  a  shower  of  earth  that,  blown  by 
the  mine  into  the  air,  was  dropping  in  clods  and  particles.  Con- 
found the  smoke  and  the  dust!  I  could  scarcely  see  where  I 
was  running.  The  man  on  my  right  dropped  with  a  groan. 
Elsewhere  a  voice  was  crying  with  a  blasphemy,  'Tm  hit!'* 
Bullets  seemed  to  breathe  in  my  face  as  they  rushed  past. 
I  stumbled  into  a  hole.  I  picked  myself  up,  for  I  saw  before 
me  a  line  of  bayonets,  glistening  where  the  light  caught  them. 
It  was  my  company;  and  I  must  be  in  front  of  them — not 
behind.  Revolver  gripped,  I  ran  through  and  beyond  them, 
only  to  fall  heavily  in  a  deep  depression,  which  was  the  Turkish 
trench.  An  enemy  bayonet  was  coming  like  a  spear  at  my 
breast  just  as  I  fired.  The  shadowy  foe  fell  across  my  legs. 
From  under  him  I  fired  into  the  breast  of  another  who  loomed 
up  to  kill  me.  Then  I  rose,  as  a  third,  with  a  downward 
blow  from  the  barrel  of  his  rifle,  knocked  my  revolver  spin- 


PART  II        The  Nineteenth  of  December  311 

ning  from  my  hand.  With  an  agony  in  my  wrist,  I  snatched 
at  his  rifle,  and,  wrenching  the  bayonet  free,  stabbed  him 
savagely  with  his  own  weapon,  tearing  it  away  as  he  dropped. 
Heavens!  would  my  company  never  come?  I  had  only  been 
four  yards  in  front  of  them.  Was  all  this  taking  place  in 
seconds?  One  moment  of  clear  reasoning  had  just  told  me 
that  this  cold  dampness,  moving  along  my  knee,  was  the  soak- 
ing blood  of  one  of  my  victims,  when  a  Turkish  officer  ran 
into  the  trench-bay,  firing  backwards  and  blindly  at  my 
sergeant-major.  Seeing  me,  he  whipped  round  his  revolver 
to  shoot  me.  My  fist  shot  out  towards  his  chin  in  an  auto- 
matic action  of  self-defence,  and  the  bayonet,  which  it  held, 
passed  like  a  pin  right  through  the  man's  throat.  His  blood 
spurted  over  my  hand  and  ran  up  my  arm,  as  he  dropped  for- 
ward, bearing  me  down  under  him. 

"Hurt,  sir?"  asked  the  sergeant-major,  kindly.  "We've 
got  the  trench.'' 

"Man  the  trench,"  said  I,  an  English  voice  bringing  my 
wits  back,  "and  keep  up  a  covering  fire  for  the  bombers." 

At  the  mention  of  the  bombers  I  thought  of  Doe.  Getting 
quickly  up,  I  stood  on  the  piled  bodies  of  my  victims  to  see 
over  the  top.  As  I  looked  through  the  rolling  smoke  for  the 
position  of  the  bombers,  I  heard  my  sergeant-major  saying 
to  a  man  in  the  next  bay : 

"Our  babe's  done  orl  right.  He's  killed  four,  and  is  now 
standin'  on  'em." 

Without  doubting  that  he  was  speaking  of  me,  I  yet  felt 
no  glow  at  this  rough  tribute,  for  I  was  worried  at  what  I  saw 
in  the  open.  In  the  fog  of  smoke  I  descried  a  figure  that 
must  be  Doe's.  He  was  still  out  on  the  top,  his  party  straggling 
and  bewildered.  It  perplexed  me.  Why  was  he  not  under 
cover  in  the  crater  of  the  mine?  Had  all  my  blood-letting 
work  only  occupied  the  time  it  took  him  to  run  from  his  trench 
to  the  lips  of  the  crater? 

Seeing  his  danger,  I  rushed  along  my  company,  shouting: 
"Curse  you !  Double  the  rapidity  of  that  fire.  Do  you  want 
all  the  bombers  killed  ?"  till  I  reached  our  extreme  left,  where 
we  had  been  in  touch  with  Doe.  Jumping  up  again,  I  watched 
his  movements.  I  saw  him  running  well  in  front  of  his  bomb- 
ers, who  were  now  going  forward,  as  if  to  a  definite  object. 


312  Tell  England  book  n 

"Good — good — good !  He'll  get  there/'  The  words  were  mine, 
but  they  sounded  like  someone  else's.  Then,  almost  before 
the  event  which  provoked  it,  I  heard  my  own  low  groan. 

Doe  stopped,  and  staggered  slightly  backwards.  His  cap 
fell  off,  and  the  wind  blew  his  hair  about,  as  it  used  to  do  on 
the  cricket-field  at  school.  He  recovered  an  upright  position; 
he  smiled  very  clearly — then  folded  up,  and  collapsed. 

I  saw  his  party  retire  rapidly,  but  in  orderly  fashion,  under 
the  command  of  their  sergeant.  Beyond  them  B  Company, 
whose  right  flank  had  been  left  hanging  in  the  air  by  the  with- 
drawal of  the  bombers,  began  to  execute  a  similar  movement. 

'*  Tain't  the  bombers'  fault,  sir,"  exclaimed  my  sergeant- 
major.  "The  mine  failed  to  produce  a  crater.  They'd  nowt 
to  occupy." 

Sick  with  misery  and  indecision,  I  was  realising  that  I  must 
retire  my  company,  its  left  flank  beiag  exposed — I  was  tak- 
ing a  last  look  at  the  huddled  form  that  had  been  my  friend, 
when  I  saw  him  rise  and  rush  forward.  Excitedly  I  cried: 
"Fire!  Fire!  Keep  up  that  covering  fire!  Be  ready  to 
advance  at  any  moment."  Ha,  there  were  no  tactics  about 
the  position  in  front  of  FusiHer  Bluff  that  minute.  Doe  was 
tumbling  forward  alone.  A  company,  firing  furiously  to  keep 
down  the  heads  of  the  Turks,  was  "in  the  air" — and  ready 
to  advance. 

"Message  to  retire  at  once,  sir,"  reported  my  sergeant-major. 

Look!  Doe  had  something  in  his  hand.  He  hurled  it.  A 
distant  thud  and  a  small  report  merged  at  once  into  a  great  ex- 
plosion, which  reverberated  about  the  Bluff.  Doe  laughed 
shrilly.  He  fell.  But  it  could  only  have  been  the  shock  which 
knocked  him  over,  for  he  was  on  his  feet  again,  and  staggering 
home. 

"Gawd!"  screamed  the  sergeant-major.  "He's  bombed  the 
gun  and  exploded  the  shell-dump.  Finish  whizz-bang  1"  And 
he  bellowed  with  triumphant  laughter. 

"I  knew  he  would,"  cried  I.  "I  knew  he  would.  This  way, 
Doe!" 

He  was  going  blindly  to  his  right. 

"Message  from  C.O.  to  retire  at  once,  sir." 

"This  way.  Doe!"  I  roared  at  him,  laughing,  for  I  thought 
he  was  well  and  unhurt. 


PART  II        The  Nineteenth  of  December  313 

But  no.    He  pitched,  rolled  over,  and  lay  still. 

I  gasped.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  Ordered  to  retire,  I  wanted 
to  jump  out  and  fetch  him  in.  In  those  few  seconds  of  inde- 
cision, I  saw  a  figure  crash  forward,  pick  up  Doe's  body,  and 
run  back. 

"The  padre !    The  padre !"  exclaimed  the  sergeant-major. 

'^No?    Was  it?" 

"Gawd,  yes !    The  gor-blimey  parson !" 

"Pass  the  word  to  retire,"  I  commanded.  "Hang  it!  We 
seem  to  have  done  the  job  we  set  out  to  do." 


§8 

Covered  with  blood  and  dust,  my  jacket  torn,  I  came  half 
an  hour  later  upon  Monty,  where  he  was  sitting  wearily  upon 
a  mound.    I  had  but  one  question  to  ask  him. 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"No.  Hit  in  the  shoulder  the  first  time.  Then,  after  he 
got  up  and  bombed  the  gun,  hit  four  times  in  the  waist." 

"Will  he  die?" 

"Of  course." 

I  walked  away,  as  a  man  does  from  one  who  has  cruelly 
hurt  him. 

"O  Christ!"  I  said,  just  blasphemously,  for  in  that  moment 
of  tearless  agony  all  my  moral  values  collapsed.  "O  Christ! 
Damn  beauty!  Damn  everything!"  Then  there  came  a  dis- 
order of  the  mind,  in  which  I  could  only  repeat  to  myself: 
"The  Germans  are  coming,  oh  dear,  oh  dear.     The  Germans 

are  coming,  oh  dear,  oh  dear.    The  Germans Oh,  drop  it, 

for  God's  sake,  drop  it !" 

A  night  and  a  morning  passed:  and  the  next  afternoon  I 
was  sitting  on  the  Bluff,  glumly  watching  a  destroyer  flash 
and  smoke,  as  she  hurled  shells  over  my  head  to  Achi  Baba. 
An  officer  came  up,  and  with  grim  meaning  handed  me  the 
typed  copy  of  an  official  telegram. 

"Here's  the  key  to  yesterday's  riddle,"  he  explained. 

I  took  it  and  read:  "Suvla  and  Anzac  successfully  evacu- 
ated.    No  casualties." 


314  Tell  England  book  n 

The  ofHcer  waited  till  I  had  finished,  and  then  said : 

** Well,  what's  our  position  on  Helles  now  ?  A  bit  dickey,  eh  ?" 

Scarcely  interested,  I  looked  along  the  coast  of  the  Peninsula 

and  saw  two  great  conflagrations,  the  smoke  ascending  in  pillars 

to  the  sky,  at  Suvla  and  Anzac,  where  the  retiring  army  had 

fired  the  remaining  stores. 


CHAPTER  XV; 

TRANSIT 
§    I 

THEN  Monty  approached  me,  as  I  tcised  stones  down  the 
slope  on  to  the  beach. 

"IVe  seen  him/'  he  said.  "He's  in  No.  17  Stationary  Hos- 
pital, the  *  White  City.'    Are  you  coming?*' 

**Of  course,"  replied  I  uncivilly.  Did  he  think  he  would 
visit  Doe  and  /  wouldn't — I  who  had  known  him  ten  years? 
The  man  was  presuming  on  his  six-months'  acquaintance  with 
my  friend. 

"Well,  come  down  to  the  dump,  and  we'll  find  you  a  horse." 

"How  is  he?"  asked  I,  not  choosing  to  be  told  what  to  do. 

"Bad.    Come  along.    There's  no  time  to  lose." 

"All  right — I'm  coming,  aren't  I?  I  don't  need  to  be 
ordered  to  go." 

In  silence  we  went  down  Gurkha  Mule  Trench  into  Gully; 
Ravine,  where  the  horse  lines  were. 

"Saddle  up  Charlie,"  said  Monty  to  his  groom,  "and  get 
the  Major's  chestnut  for  Captain  Ray." 

The  groom  brought  the  horses,  and,  as  he  tightened  up  the 
girth  on  Monty's  dark  bay  Arab,  asked  me : 

"Are  you  going  to  see  Mr.  Doe,  sir  ?" 

I  turned  away  without  answering.  I  hadn't  spoken  to  him, 
and  there  was  no  occasion  for  him  to  speak  to  me. 

"Yes,  we  are,"  said  Monty  promptly. 

"Sad  about  such  a  nice  young  gentleman.  He's  packing 
up,  they  say." 

"The  damned  alarmist!"  thought  I.  "He  relishes  the  grim 
news." 

But  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  I  was  only  ^  udging  him  his 
right  to  be  sorry  for  Doe.     Who  was  he  tj  grieve?    Three 

315 


316  Tell  England  book  h 

months  before  he  had  not  heard  of  us.  On  all  the  Peninsula 
there  was  only  one  just  claim  to  the  right  of  grieving:  and 
that  was  mine. 

Monty  mounted.  Seizing  the  reins  carelessly,  I  put  my  foot 
in  the  chestnut's  stirrup.  As  I  rose,  the  bit  pulled  on  the 
w^  .iiouth  and  she  wheeled  and  reared,  shaking  me  awk- 
^iy  to  the  ground. 

•'Damn  the  bloody  horse,"  I  said  aloud. 

Monty  stroked  his  bay's  silk  neck,  as  though  he  had  heard 
nothing. 

''You've  got  his  rein  too  tight,  sir,"  the  groom  told  me. 

"All  right !    I  know  how  to  mount  a  horse." 

I  swung  into  the  saddle,  and,  ignoring  Monty,  set  the  mare, 
which  was  very  fresh,  at  a  canter  towards  Artillery  Road. 
Artillery  Road  was  a  winding  gun-track  that  climbed  out  of 
Gully  Ravine  up  to  the  tableland  beneath  Achi  Baba.  Much 
too  fast  I  ran  the  chestnut  up  the  steep  incline,  and  emerged 
from  the  ravine  on  to  the  high  level  ground.  Straightway 
I  looked  across  two  miles  of  scrub  to  the  seaward  point  of 
the  plateau,  where  stood  a  large  camp  of  square  tents.  It  was 
No.  17  Stationary  Hospital,  the  "White  City."  ...  I  won- 
dered which  of  those  tents  he  was  in. 

The  chestnut,  anxious  for  a  gallop  through  the  scrub,  and 
excited  by  the  noise  of  Monty  cantering  behind,  pulled  hard. 
My  heart  was  in  sympathy  with  her,  and  I  let  her  open  into  a 
stretch-gallop.  For  I  was  absurdly  thinking  that,  if  once  I 
allowed  Monty  to  draw  abreast  of  me,  I  should  yield  to  him  a 
share  of  my  position  as  chief  mourner.  I  wanted  to  be  lonely 
in  my  grief. 

At  a  point  in  front  of  me  on  the  beaten  road  shells  were 
dropping  with  regularity.  Savagely  grieving,  I  let  the  mare 
race  the  shells  to  the  danger  zone.  What  cared  I  if  shell  and 
mare  and  rider  converged  together  upon  their  destruction  ? 

I  rode  through  a  rush  of  confused  impressions.  At  one 
moment  I  was  passing  Pink  Farm  Cemetery,  which  had  two 
of  its  crosses  nearly  broken  by  a  shell-splinter.  I  was  wonder- 
ing if  they  would  bury  him  there,  alongside  of  White,  under 
the  solitary  tree.  At  another,  I  was  galloping  through  the 
lines  of  the  Lowland  Division,  where  a  band  of  pipers  was 
playing  "Annie  L:  urie,"  and  an  officer  cried  out  to  me :    "Stop 


PART    II 


Transit  317 


that  galloping,  you  young  fool/'  In  answer  I  put  heels  to 
the  mare's  flanks  and  urged  her  on.  And  all  the  while  the 
*'White  City"  was  growing  nearer  and  larger,  and  my  heart 
beginning  to  beat  with  anticipation  and  fear.  I  shouldn't 
know  what  to  do  or  to  say.  Never  shy  of  Doe  living,  I  was 
shy  of  Doe  dying. 

Having  pulled  the  excited  mare  into  control  and  dismounted, 
I  looked  round,  sneakily  sideways,  for  Monty.  I  wanted  his 
company  now,  for  I  feared  what  was  coming.  Too  proud 
to  appear  to  wait  for  him,  I  shammed  difficulty  with  the 
animal's  head-rope,  and  delayed  long  over  the  task  of  tethering 
her  securely.  And  the  time,  during  which  Monty  arrived  and 
dismounted,  I  killed  by  unloosening  girth  and  surcingle. 

*'Come  along,  Rupert,  old  chap." 

Monty  led  the  way  to  Doe's  tent.  And  the  chief  mourner 
followed  humbly  behind.  As  we  dipped  our  heads  to  pass 
under  the  porch,  we  went  out  of  the  glare  of  the  open  air 
into  the  subdued  and  gentle  light  of  the  tent.  At  once  a  cool- 
ness like  that  of  evening  displaced  the  warmth  of  the  afternoon. 
And  a  strange  quiet  fell  about  our  ears.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  the  eight  cots  were  empty. 

The  orderly  on  duty  greeted  Monty  with  a  soft  whisper: 
"He's  quite  conscious,  sir,  but  won't  last  long." 

Following  the  glance  of  the  orderly,  I  saw  Doe's  wide  eyes 
fixed  upon  me. 

"Hallo,  Rupert." 

I  hurried  to  his  bedside,  feeling,  even  in  that  moment,  a 
triumphant  joy  that  his  affectionate  welcome  had  been  for  me 
and  not  for  Monty. 

"Hallo,  Doe." 

He  looked  very  beautiful,  lying  there.  His  complexion, 
always  as  flawless  as  a  little  child's,  had  assumed  a  new 
waxen  loveliness,  no  touch  of  colour  varying  its  pale  and 
delicate  brown.    And  his  eyes  were  brilliant. 

"Well — we  did  in  the  old  gun,  Rupert,  that  killed — Jimmy 
Doon — and  Major  Hardy.  .  .  .  The  Rangoon  proved  too 
strong  for  it,  after  all !" 

How  characteristic  of  our  dear,  dramatic  Doe  his  words 
were! 

"Yes,"  I  said,  and  could  think  of  nothing  more  to  say. 


318  Tell  England  book  h 

He  moved  his  body  slightly,  and  I,  cudgelling  my  mind 
for  some  remark,  asked: 

"Were  you  hurt  much?'' 

"I  was  wounded — in  the  shoulder — and  then  hit  four  times, 
after  I — the  doctor  seems  to  think  it's  pretty  bad — but  oh,  it's 
nothing." 

As  he  spoke  I  could  see  that  he  was  rather  pleased  with 
the  picturesqueness  of  being  '^Dangerously  Wounded,"  and 
that,  while  he  wished  to  inform  us  how  interesting  he  had 
become,  he  wished  also  to  appear  to  be  stoically  making  light 
of  his  pain.  And  I  loved  him  for  being  the  same  self-conscious 
heroic  character  up  to  the  last. 

The  brilliant  eyes  sought  out  Monty,  who  was  standing 
just  behind  me.  Doe  gazed  at  him,  and,  after  a  thoughtful 
pause,  laughed  nervously. 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  be — ^here — ^to-morrow,  when  you  come. 
I  dare  say  I  shan't." 

Again  I  saw  the  thought  behind  his  words.  Probably  my 
love  for  him  was  blazing  up,  in  these  farewell  moments, 
brighter  than  it  had  ever  been,  and  illuminating  all  things. 
I  saw  that  he  wanted  to  live,  but  feared  he  was  going  to  die. 
I  saw  that  he  had  gambled  everything  upon  his  last  remark, 
and  was  waiting  to  see  if  he  would  draw  life  or  death. 

Had  he  said  it  to  me  I  should  have  answered  hurriedly: 
*'Of  course  you  will,"  but  Monty  was  cast  in  more  courageous 
metal.  Boldly  he  seized  this  moment  to  convey  the  truth. 
He  offered  no  denial  to  Doe's  daring  suggestion  that  the 
end  was  near:  instead,  he  laid  his  hand  very  gently  on  the 
boy's  wrist,  as  if  to  tell  him  that  he  wished  to  help  him  through 
with  a  difficult  thought. 

Throughout  my  life,  till  someone  shall  tell  me  that  my  time 
has  come,  I  shall  remember  Doe's  look  when  he  saw  that  Monty 
was  not  going  to  dispute  his  statement.  His  wide  eyes  stared 
inquiringly.  Then  they  filmed  over  with  a  slight  moisture, 
for  they  belonged  to  a  boy  who  was  not  yet  twenty.  He 
dropped  his  eyelids  to  conc'eal  the  welling  moisture,  but  raised 
them  a  few  seconds  later,  revealing  that  the  tears  had  gath- 
ered still  more  abundantly,  and  his  lashes  were  wet  with  them. 
Nevertheless  he  smiled,  and  said: 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped.     If  I'd  known  when  I  started 


PART    II 


Transit  319 


that  it  would  end  like  this — Vd  have  gone  through  with  it  just 
the  same.    I  haven't  got  cold  feet." 


§2 

"It's  an  end  to  all  the  ambitions  and  poems/'  said  Doe  later, 
when  the  windowless  tent  seemed  to  be  getting  dark,  though 
the  afternoon  was  yet  early.  "P'raps  you'll  be  left  to  fulfil 
yours,  Rupert.  Do  you  remember  you  said  in  Radley's  room 
— all  those  hundreds  of  years  ago — that  you  wanted  to  be 
a  country  squire?" 

"Yes,"  answered  I,  with  a  quivering  lip. 

"And  Penny  wanted — to  be  a  Tory.  .  .  .  And  I  wanted 
to  lead  the  people.  Oh,  well.  Fd  like  just  to  have  known — 
whether  we  won  the  war  in  the  end.    P'raps  you'll  know " 

"We're  winning,"  said  I  feebly. 

"O  Lord,  yes,"  agreed  Doe,  dreamily  echoing  an  old  memory. 

It  grew  darker,  though  not  yet  three  o'clock ;  and  my  brain 
seemed  to  be  receding  from  me  with  the  light.  I  felt  tired 
and  frightened.    There  was  a  long  pause,  till  at  last  I  said : 

"Well,  I  s'pose  I  must  be  going  now." 

God!  The  futility  of  the  words!  And  they  were  the  last 
I  could  utter  to  Doe!  ...  I  grasped  his  wrist.  If  I  couldn't 
speak,  I  could  pass  all  my  abounding  love  and  misery  through 
the  pressure  of  my  hand. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.    "Thanks  for  coming  to  see  me." 

The  boyish  words  broke  me  up.  My  brows  contracted  in 
pain.  My  eyes  burned,  and  misery  filled  my  throat.  I  even 
felt  a  smile  at  the  tragedy  of  it  all  pass  over  my  face.  Then 
with  an  audible  moan  I  rushed  away. 

I  went  out  to  my  horse  without  waiting  for  Monty.  I  could 
have  waited  for  nobody.  I  wanted  motion,  action,  something 
to  occupy  my  hands  and  feet  and  mind.  As  I  mounted  the 
mare  she  began  to  walk  away.  But  walking  was  not  action 
enough.  Impatiently  I  urged  her  to  a  canter  and  a  gallop. 
'  And,  while  she  galloped,  increasing  her  distance  from  the 
"White  City,"  I  asked  myself  if  I  realised  that  I  was  riding 
away  from  Doe  for  ever. 

The  spirited  mare,  knowing  that  she  was  going  home  to 


320  Tell  England  book  n 

her  lines,  opened  out  like  a  winner  racing  up  the  straight. 
The  extravagance  of  her  speed  exactly  fitted  my  extravagant 
mood.  I  promised  myself  that,  just  as  I  was  letting  my  ani- 
mal have  its  head,  so  I  would  slacken  all  moral  reins,  and 
let  my  life  run  uncontrolled.  There  was  not  more  beauty 
in  things  than  ugliness,  nor  more  happiness  in  life  than  pain. 
Have  done  with  this  straining  after  ideals!  .  .  .  The  horse 
gathered  pace. 

Then,  as  I  rode  savagely  and  thought  savagely,  a  strange 
thing  happened.  I  was  gripping  the  mare  with  my  knees,  and, 
now  that  she  was  attaining  her  highest  speed,  I  leaned  for- 
ward like  a  jockey,  throwing  my  weight  on  her  withers.  The 
wind  rushed  past  me;  the  exhilaration  of  speed  filled  me; 
that  invigorating  sensation  of  strong  life  pulling  upon  my 
reins  and  springing  between  the  grip  of  my  knees  ran  through 
my  veins;  my  lungs  tightened;  a  pleasing  weariness  set  in 
below  the  heart;  and  for  a  moment  I  almost  felt  the  uncon- 
querable joy  of  youth  in  life! 

Instantly  I  pulled  the  wild  animal  in,  and  dropped  into  a 
melancholy  walk.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  trapped.  Not  yet 
would  I  be  disloyal  to  Doe  by  admitting  beauty  in  creation 
or  joy  in  living.  I  walked  the  lathering  mare  to  the  lines, 
like  a  tired  jockey  who  has  run  his  race.  Then  I  wandered 
home  to  Fusilier  Bluff — ^home  to  a  dug-out  for  two !  I  couldn't 
enter  the  dug-out  yet.  I  lay  down  on  the  Bluff,  watching  the 
late  sun  nearing  the  hills  of  Imbros. 

The  misery  possessing  me  was  of  that  passionate  kind  which 
embraces  self-torture.  I  wilfully  excavated  the  ten  past  years 
for  memories  of  Doe,  though,  in  so  doing,  I  was  pressing  upon 
my  wound  to  make  it  hurt.  I  watched  him  as  a  boy,  getting 
into  the  next  bed  in  the  Bramhall  dormitory,  or  rowing  in  the 
evening  light  up  the  river  at  Falmouth.  I  saw  two  young 
khaki  figures,  his  and  mine,  setting  out  at  midnight  to-  sin  and 
sully  ourselves  together.  I  heard  him  quoting  on  the  hilltops 
of  Mudros  his  haunting  couplet: 

"As  long  days  close, 
And  weary  English  suns  go  westering  home." 

The  memories  made  my  breath  come  fast  and  jerkily. 
With  madly  exalted  words  I  addressed  that  slight  fair-haired 


PART    II 


Transit  321 


figure,  which  must  now  for  ever  be  only  a  memory.  ^'My 
friend,"  I  said  to  it;  "mine,  mine!"  In  the  freshness  of  my 
loss,  I  thought  no  lover  had  ever  loved  as  I  did.  *'I  loved 
you — I  loved  you — I  loved  you,"  I  repeated.  And  I  even 
worked  myself  up  into  a  weary  longing  to  die.  Pennybet  had 
led  the  way,  and  Doe  now  was  following  him.  And  why  should 
not  I  complete  the  story?    Why  not?    Why  not? 

My  brain  was  pulsing  thus  tempestuously  when  Monty  drew 
near  me.  I  aflfected  not  to  notice  his  coming,  but  when  he 
sat  down  beside  me  I  decided  to  speak  first.  I  felt  it  would 
be  a  supreme  relief  to  hurt  him  with  the  news  that  I  had 
abandoned  his  ideal,  and  let  my  spiritual  life  collapse.  So, 
without  looking  at  him,  I  said  angrily : 

^There's  no  beauty  in  it." 

"Rupert,  you're  wrong,"  he  answered,  "and  you'll  see  it 
when  you  are  less  unhappy."  He  paused.  "Doe — Edgar  used 
to  worry  himself  because  he  thought  that  any  really  good 
thing  that  he  did  was  spoiled  by  a  desire  for  glory.  He  often 
said  that  he  wanted  to  do  a  really  perfect  thing.  And,  Rupert, 
this  afternoon  he  told  me  that,  when  he  went  forward  to  put 
out  that  gun,  he  felt  quite  alone.  He  seemed  surrounded 
with  smoke  and  flying  dust.  And  he  thought  he  would  do  one 
big  deed  unseen.  .    .    .  He  did  his  perfect  thing  at  the  last." 

"There's  no  beauty,"  I  repeated  dully. 

"Rupert,  Edgar  is  dead.  .  .  .  And  there's  only  one  unbeauti- 
ful  thing  about  his  death,  and  that  is  the  way  his  friend  is 
taking  it." 

Monty  stopped,  and  both  of  us  watched  the  sun  go  down 
behind  Imbros.  It  was  throwing  out  golden  rays  like  the  spokes 
of  a  wheel.  These  rays  caught  the  flaky  clouds  above  Samo- 
thrace,  and  just  pencilled  their  outline  with  a  tiny  rim  of  gold 
and  fire.  And  the  hills  of  Imbros,  as  always  in  the  -^gean 
Sea,  turned  purple. 

"There's  no  beauty  in  death  and  burial  and  corruption,"  I 
said. 

"Yes,  there  is,  even  in  them.  There's  beauty  in  thinking  that 
the  same  material  which  goes  to  make  these  earthly  hills  and 
that  still  water  should  have  been  shaped  into  a  graceful  body, 
and  lit  with  the  divine  spark  which  was  Edgar  Doe.  There's 
beauty  in  thinking  that,  when  the  unconquerable  spark  has 


322  Tell  England  book  ii 

escaped  away,  the  material  is  returned  to  the  earth,  where  it 
urges  its  life,  also  an  unconquerable  thing,  into  grass  and 
flowers.    It's  harmonious — it's  beautiful." 

This  time  I  forbore  to  repeat  my  obstinate  denial. 

"And  your  friendship  is  a  more  beautiful  whole,  as  things 
are.  Had  there  been  no  war,  you'd  have  left  school  and  gone 
your  different  roads,  till  each  lost  trace  of  the  other.  It's 
always  the  same.  But,  as  it  is,  the  war  has  held  you  in  a  deep- 
ening intimacy  till — till  the  end.     It's — it's  perfect." 

''It'll  be  more  perfect,"  I  answered,  in  a  low,  hollow  voice, 
"if  the  war  ends  us  both.    Perhaps  it  will.    There  is  time  yet." 

At  so  bitter  a  sentence  Monty  gave  me  a  look,  and  broke 
through  all  barriers  with  a  single  generous  remark. 

"Rupert,  old  chap,  the  loss  of  Edgar  leaves  me  numb  with 
pain,  but  I  know  I'm  not  suffering  like  you." 

A  dry  sob  tore  up  my  frame. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  feel,"  I  gulped,  "or  what  I've 
said.     I  think  I've  been  a  self-centred  cad.     I'm — I'm  sorry." 

Monty  muttered  something  gentle,  and  left  me  reclining  on 
the  Bluff  and  looking  out  to  sea.  I  didn't  turn  my  head  to 
watch  him  go.    But  I  was  thinking  now  less  stormily. 

Yes,  I  had  been  behaving  like  a  fool :  but  I  had  been  mad, 
as  though  everything  had  snapped.  To-morrow  I  would  re- 
cover my  mental  balance  and  resume  moral  effort.  My  last 
loyalty  to  Doe  should  be  this:  that  I  would  not  let  his  death 
destroy  his  friend's  ideals.  That,  as  Monty  said,  would  spoil 
the  beauty  of  it  all.  And  I,  least  of  any,  should  spoil  it !  But 
to-night — just  for  to-night — my  fretful,  contrary  mood  must 
play  itself  out.    To-morrow  I  would  begin  again. 

So  I  lay  watching  the  changing  lights.  Darkness  came  close 
behind  the  sunset,  and  there,  yonder,  Orion  hung  low  in 
the  sky.  I  tossed  a  few  stones  down  the  Bluff,  but  soon  it  was 
too  dark  to  see  them  after  they  had  travelled  a  little  distance. 
Overhead  the  sky  deepened  to  the  last  blue  of  night,  but  along 
the  western  horizon  it  remained  a  luminous  sea-green.  Against 
this  bright  afterglow  the  hills  of  Imbros  stood  almost  black. 
I  stared  at  them.  Then  the  luminous  green  turned  to  the  blue 
of  the  zenith,  and  the  hills  were  lost.  And  the  cold  of  the 
Gallipoli  night  chilled  me,  as  I  lay  there,  too  indolent  and 
despairing  to  seek  warmth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  HOURS  BEFORE  THE  END 
§1 

ON  the  following  day  we  buried  Doe  at  sundown.  In  a 
grave  on  Hunter  Weston  Hill,  which  slopes  down  to  W 
Beach^  he  lies  with  his  feet  toward  the  sea. 

The  same  evening  the  medical  orderly  abused  my  confidence 
and  informed  the  doctor  that  I  was  running  a  high  tempera- 
ture; and  the  doctor  told  me  to  pack  up,  as  he  was  sending 
me  to  hospital.     I  refused. 

I  pointed  out  to  him  that  if  I,  as  a  Company  Commander, 
were  to  go  sick  at  this  juncture  of  the  Gallipoli  campaign,  I 
could  never  again  look  the  men  of  my  company  in  the  face. 
I  tried  to  be  funny  about  it.  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  that 
Suvla  had  been  evacuated;  and  that  the  Turks  had  therefore 
their  whole  Suvla  army  released  to  attack  us  on  Helles — to 
say  nothing  of  unlimited  reinforcements  pouring  through  Servia 
from  Germany.  I  offered  him  an  even  bet  that  a  few  days 
hence  we  should  either  be  lying  dead  in  the  scrub  at  Helles, 
or  marching  wearily  to  our  prison  at  Constantinople.  How, 
then,  could  I  desert  my  men  at  this  perilous  moment?  "The 
Germans  are  coming,  oh  dear,  oh  dear,"  I  summed  up;  and 
then  shivered,  as  I  remembered  whose  merry  voice  had  first 
chanted  those  words. 

All  this  I  explained  to  the  doctor,  but  I  did  not  tell  him 
that,  when  I  discovered  my  abnormal  temperature,  I  had  felt 
a  quick  spring  of  joy  bubbling  up,  for  here  was  an  excuse  for 
getting  out  of  this  Gallipoli,  of  which  I  was  so  sick  and  tired ; 
and  then  I  had  remembered  how,  in  loyalty  to  Doe,  I  had 
replaced  my  old  ideals,  and  by  their  light  I  must  stay.  I 
must  only  leave  the  Peninsula  when  I  could  leave  it  with 
honour  of  holding  Helles  for  the  Empire'  ?'' 

In  the  end  the  doctor  and  I  compromised.    He  said  he  would 

323 


324  Tell  England  book  n 

not  send  me  to  hospital,  but  that  I  must  go  down  to  the  dump, 
and  take  things  easy  for  a  few  days.  From  there  I  could  be 
summoned,  since  I  took  myself  so  devilish  seriously,  to  die 
with  my  men  when  the  massacre  began.  I  told  him  that  the 
dump  was  too  far  back,  but  that,  if  he  liked,  I  would  go  and 
live  with  Padre  Monty  in  the  Eski  Line. 

So  a  few  days  before  Christmas  I  arrived  with  my  batman 
and  my  kit  at  Monty's  tiny  sand-bag  dug-out.  He  gave  me 
a  joyous  welcome,  stating  that  he  would  order  the  maids  to 
light  the  fire  in  the  best  bedroom  and  air  the  sheets.  Mean- 
while, would  I  step  into  his  study  ? 


§2 

"Fm  glad,"  said  I  to  Monty  at  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
"that  I  shall  spend  Christmas  alone  with  you  here.  I  couldn't 
have  stood  just  now  a  riotous  celebration  with  the  regiment." 

"Of  course  not,"  he  agreed,  and  we  both  kept  a  silence  in 
honour  of  the  dead. 

"Though  I  doubt  if  it'll  be  a  riotous  Christmas  for  any- 
one/' I  resumed.  "Probably  the  last  most  of  us  will  ever 
know." 

"Stuff !"  murmured  Monty. 

"  'Tisn't  stuff.  Have  you  seen  the  Special  Order  of  the 
Day  that  has  been  printed  and  stuck  up  everywhere,  con- 
gratulating us  on  our  attack  of  December  19,  which,  it  says, 
'contributed  largely  to  the  successful  evacuation  of  Suvla,'  and 
telling  us  that  to  our  Army  Corps  *has  been  entrusted  the 
honour  of  holding  Helles  for  the  Empire'?" 

"Heavens !"  he  muttered.    "We  can't  do  it." 

"Of  course  we  can't;  and  we  can't  quit." 

"Not  without  being  wipejl  out,"  he  agreed. 

"Exactly.  I  wonder  what  it'll  feel  like,  having  a  Turco 
bayonet  in  one's  stomach." 

"Rupert,"  said  Monty  suddenly,  "we've  had  a  bad  jar,  and 
we're  getting  morbid.  Cheer  up.  Muddly  old  Britain  will 
get  us  out  of  this  mess.  And  now  we're  jolly  well  going  to 
make  all  we  can  out  of  this  Christmas.  It'll  t:ertainly  be  the 
most  piquant  of  our  lives.    AdamsT 


PART  11         The  Hours  Before  the  End  325 

"Sir?*'  Monty's  batman  appeared  at  the  dug-out  door  in 
answer  to  the  call. 

*'Get  your  entrenching  tool.  We're  going  to  dig  up  a  little 
fir  for  a  Christmas  tree/' 

So  we  spent  the  next  days  making  our  Christmas  prepara- 
tions, determined  to  keep  the  feast.  We  decorated  the  sand- 
bag cabin — oh,  yes !  Over  the  pictures  of  our  people,  pinned 
to  the  sand-bag  walls,  we  placed  sprigs  of  a  small-leaf  holly 
that  grew  on  the  Peninsula.  We  planted  the  little  fir  in  a 
disused  petrol-tin,  and,  after  a  visit  to  the  canteen,  decorated 
it  with  boxes  of  Turkish  delight,  sticks  of  chocolate,  packets 
of  chewing-gum,  oranges,  lemons,  soap,  and  bits  of  Govern- 
ment candles.  It  was  a  Christmas  tree  of  some  distinction. 
And  mistletoe?  No,  we  couldn't  find  any  mistletoe,  but 
then,  as  Monty  said,  it  would  have  no  point  on  Gallipoli,  there 
being  no — just  so;  when  we  should  be  home  again  for  Christ- 
mas of  next  year,  we  would  claim  an  extra  kiss  for  1915. 

"Pest!  Rupert,"  exclaimed  Monty,  "we've  forgotten  to 
send  any  Christmas  cards.    To  work  at  once !" 

We  sat  down  at  the  tiny  table  and  cut  notepaper  into  ele- 
gant shapes,  sticking  on  it  little  bits  of  Turkish  heather,  and 
printing  beneath:  "A  Slice  of  Turkey"  (which  we  thought 
a  very  happy  jest)  ;  "Heather  from  Invaded  Enemy  Territory. 
Are  we  downhearted?    NO!    Are  we  going  to  win?    YES!" 

And  by  luck  there  arrived  a  parcel  from  Mother  with  a  cake. 
Of  plum  pudding  we  despaired,  till  one  fine  morning  there 
came  a  present  (half  a  pound  per  man)  of  that  excellent 
comestible  from  the  Daily  News  (whom  the  gods  preserve 
and  prosper). 

"All  is  now  ready,"  proclaimed  Monty. 

Christmas  Day  dawned  beautiful  in  sky  and  atmosphere. 
It  would  have  been  as  mild  and  gracious  as  a  windless  June 
day  had  not  the  Turk,  nervous  lest  these  dogs  of  Christians 
should  celebrate  their  festival  with  any  untoward  activity, 
opened  at  daylight  a  prophylactic  bombardment. 

We  stood  in  the  dug-out  door  and  watched  the  shells  drop- 
ping. 

"Does  it  strike  you,  Rupert,"  asked  Monty,  making  a  grim- 
ace, "that  Old-Man-Turk  has  more  guns  firing  than  ever 
before?" 


326  Tell  England  book  n 

"Yes,"  I  answered.     'The  guns  from  Suvla  have  come." 

The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  my  mouth  than  a  shell 
shrieking  into  our  own  cookhouse,  drove  us  like  rabbits  into 
the  dug-out. 

"Does  it  strike  you,  Rupert,"  sai3  Monty,  "that  Turk  Pasha 
has  some  pals  with  him  who  are  firing  heavier  shells  than 
ever  before?" 

"Yes,"  said  I.    "The  Germans  have  come." 


§3 

The  afternoon  we  devoted  to  preparations  for  the  feast 
of  the  evening.  We  laid  the  table.  There  was  a  water-proof 
ground-sheet  for  the  cloth.  There  were  little  holly  branches 
stuck  in  tobacco  tins.  And  there  were  candles  in  plenty  (for 
they  were  a  Government  issue,  and  we  could  be  free  with 
them).  At  Monty's  suggestion,  who  maintained  that  the 
family  must  be  gathered  at  the  Christmas  board,  we  placed 
photographs  of  our  people  on  the  table.  There  was  a  picture 
of  Monty's  sister  and  (for  shame,  Monty!  fie  upon  you  for 
keeping  it  dark  so  long)  the  picture  of  somebody  else's  sister. 
There  was  the  portrait  of  my  mother,  and  oh !  in  a  silent  mo- 
ment, I  had  nearly  placed  on  the  table  the  dear  face  of  Edgar 
Doe,  but,  instead,  I  put  it  back  in  my  pocket,  saying  nothing 
to  Monty,  and  feeling  guilty  of  a  lapse. 

We  were  glad  when  the  darkness  came,  for  we  wanted  to 
try  the  effect  of  the  candles,  both  those  on  the  table  and  tlTose 
on  the  Christmas  tree.  And  truly  the  darkness,  the  candles, 
the  flying  sparks  from  our  Yule  log,  and  the  smell  of  burning 
wood  made  Christmas  everywhere. 

Then  we  sat  down  to  the  meal.  The  menu  said:  "Con- 
somme Gallipoli,  Stew  Dardanelles,  Plum  Pudding,  Dessert, 
Lemonade  a  la  Tour  Eiffel."  The  soup  was  very  good,  even 
if  it  was  only  the  gravy  from  the  next  course.  And  the  stew 
in  its  plate  looked  almost  too  fine  to  disturb;  the  very  largest 
onion  was  stuck  in  the  middle — was  it  not  Christmas  Day? 
The  pudding  we  set  on  fire  with  the  Army  rum  issue.  And 
the  dish  of  dessert  was  a  fine  pile  of  lemons  and  oranges — 


PART  II  The  Hours  Before  the  End  327 

the  lemons  not  being  there  to  be  eaten,  of  course,  but  to  make 
the  show  more  brave. 

Then  the  batmen  were  fetched  in  and  given  the  presents  from 
the  Christmas  Tree.  And  we  drank  healths  in  lemonade  a  la 
Tour  Eiffel.  We  toasted  the  King,  the  Allies,  "J^^^nny  Turk 
beyond  the  Parapet,''  and,  above  all,  **Our  People  at  home, 
God  bless  'em!''  We  sang  "For  they  are  jolly  good  fellows," 
and  it  was  wonderful  what  a  fine  thing  two  officers  and  their 
soldier-servants  made  of  it.  Somebody,  warmed  up  by  this 
lively  chorus,  raised  his  glass  and  suggested  "To  Hell  with 
the  Kaiser!''  But  this  toast  we  disallowed,  on  the  ground 
that  it  would  spoil  our  kindly  feeling,  and  besides,  as  Monty 
observed  compensatingly,  he  would  be  toasted  enough  when 
he  got  there. 

And,  when  it  was  all  over,  I  went  out  into  the  darkness  to 
walk  alone  for  a  little,  and  to  get  the  chill  night  air  blowing 
upon  my  forehead.  It  was  as  clear  and  fine  a  night  as  it  had 
been  a  day — cloudless,  still,  and  starlit.  And — forgive  me 
— ^but  I  could  only  think  of  him  whom  we  had  left  on  Hunter 
Weston  Hill,  with  his  feet  toward  the  sea,  lying  out  there  in 
the  cold  and  the  quiet.    O  God,  when  should  I  get  used  to  it? 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  END   OF   GALLIPOLI 
§    I 

WANDERING  down  the  Gully  Ravine  one  morning,  I  en- 
countered a  long  line  of  men  marching  up  it  in  single 
file.  I  passed  as  close  to  them  as  possible,  so  that,  by  a  glance 
at  their  shoulder-straps,  I  might  ascertain  their  regiment.  No 
sooner  had  I  learned  who  they  were  than  I  turned  about  and 
hurried  back  to  Monty's  dug-out.  This  life  holds  few  pleas- 
ures so  agreeable  as  that  of  conveying  startling  news. 

*'Who  do  you  think's  marching  up  the  Gully?"  I  demanded. 

"I  don't  know.     Who?''  asked  Monty. 

'The  Munster  Fusiliers  r 

"What?  The  immortal  29th  Division?  From  Suvla.  The 
dickens  !    What  does  it  mean  ?" 

Before  we  could  decide  what  it  meant  my  batman  came 
back  from  a  visit  to  the  French  canteen  at  Seddel  Bahr. 

'They're  landing  hundreds  of  troops  at  V  Beach,  sir,"  said 
he.     *The  Worcesters  are  here,  and  the  Warwicks." 

"The  13th  Division,"  exclaimed  Monty.    "Also  from  Suvla." 

"They're  reinforcements,"  said  I.  "It's  all  in  accordance 
with  the  Special  Order  of  the  Day  that  we  are  to  'hold  Helles 
for  the  Empire.'  " 

Monty  was  just  about  to  pulverise  me  with  a  particularly 
rude  rejoinder,  when  a  voice  outside  called  "Hostile  aircraft 
overhead,"  and  we  were  drawn  at  a  run  to  the  door  by  the 
unmistakable  sound  of  anti-aircraft  guns,  followed  by  the 
bursting  out  of  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire,  which  grew  and 
grew  till  it  sounded  like  a  mighty  forest  crackling  and  splut- 
tering in  flames.  We  glanced  into  the  sky  at  the  shrapnel  puffs, 
and  immediately  discovered  two  enemy  aeroplanes  flying  lower 
than  they  had  ever  done  before.  We  could  almost  see  the 
observers  leaning  over  the  fuselage  to  spy  out  if  the  British  on 

328 


PART  II  The  End  of  Gallipoli  329 

Helles  were  up  to  the  monkey  tricks  they  had  played  at  Suvla. 
So  low  were  they  that  all  men  with  rifles — the  infantry  in 
their  trenches,  the  A.S.C.  drivers  from  their  dumps,  the  trans- 
port men  from  their  horse-lines — were  firing  a  rapid-fire  at  the 
aeroplanes  and  waiting  to  see  them  fall. 

''Cheeky  brutes!'*  I  shouted,  and,  observing  that  our  bat- 
men were  hastily  loading  their  rifles,  ran  for  my  revolver, 
determined  to  fire  something  into  the  air. 

"It's  like  us,"  growled  Monty,  "to  land  reinforcements  under 

the  very  eyes  of  the  enemy  aeroplanes ''    He  paused,  as 

though  a  new  idea  had  struck  him.  "Rupert,  my  boy,  did 
you  say  that  the  Special  Order  about  holding  Helles  was  eX'^ 
tensively  published?" 

"Yes,  rather.    Hung  in  the  very  traverses  of  the  trenches." 

"I  thought  so."  He  nodded  with  irritating  mysteriousness. 
"What  fools  you  and  I  are !  Stop  firing  at  those  Taubes.  Or 
fire  wide  of  them — fire  wide  " 

"Why?" 

"Because  our  Staff  will  want  them  to  get  home  and  report 
all  that  they've  seen.    That's  why." 

Of  a  truth  Monty  was  quite  objectionable,  if  he  was  ex- 
cited with  some  secret  discovery,  and  thought  it  amusing  not 
to  disclose  it.  And  when,  later  that  afternoon,  a  message 
came  round  saying  that  irresponsible  units  were  not  to  fire 
at  hostile  aircraft,  owing  to  the  danger  of  spent  bullets,  he 
bragged  like  any  pernicious  schoolboy. 

"I  told  you  so.  O  Rupert,  my  silly  little  juggins,  you're 
as  dense  as  a  vegetable  marrow.  I  mean,  you're  a  very  low 
form  of  life." 

The  weather  broke.  Two  days  of  merciless  rain  turned 
the  trenches  into  lanes  of  red  clayey  mud,  and  the  floor  of 
the  Gully  Ravine  into  a  canal  of  stagnant  brown  water. 
And  one  evening  Monty  returned  from  his  visitations,  limping 
badly.  He  had  slipped  heavily,  as  he  paddled  through  the 
ankle-deep  mud,  and  had  hurt  his  back.  I  sent  him  at  once  to 
bed,  and  on  the  following  morning  announced  that  I  was 
going  to  no  less  terrifying  a  place  than  Brigade  Headquarters 


330  Tell  England  book  n 

to  insist  on  his  being  given  a  pair  of  trench- waders.  He  en- 
joined me  not  to  be  an  ass,  and  I  rebuked  him  severely  for 
speaking  to  his  doctor  like  that,  and,  going  out  of  the  dug-out, 
broke  off  all  communication  with  one  so  rude. 

Reaching  Brigade  Headquarters,  which  were  on  the  slope 
across  the  Gully,  I  asked  the  least  alarming  of  the  Staff  Offi- 
cers, the  Staff  Captain,  for  a  pair  of  trench-waders. 

"Sorry,''  answered  he,  "weVe  had  orders  to  return  them 
all.''  He  looked  most  knowing,  as  he  said  it,  and  seemed  to 
think  it  a  remark  pregnant  with  excitement. 

**Oh,  I  see,"  I  replied,  quite  inadequately. 

**Yes,"  he  continued,  staring  whimsically  at  me,  "we've  been 
ordered  to  shift  our  quarters  to-night." 

"Grood  Lord!"  I  said,  still  confused. 

"Yes,  we  leave — by  ship — at  midnight.  It's  the  Evacuation. 
The  other  two  brigades  of  our  Division  have  already  gone, 
and  we  go  to-night!" 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  I.     "Then  I'll  go  and  pack." 

"Of  course;  and  tell  the  padre  to  meet  the  battalion  at  W 
Beach  at  ten  o'clock." 

Down  the  hillside  I  went,  across  the  Gully,  forging  like  a 
steam-pinnace  through  the  water,  and  up  the  face  of  the 
opposite  hill.  Full  of  the  glorious  bursting  weight  of  good 
news,  I  looked  down  upon  our  batmen  at  work  in  the  cook- 
house, and  roared:  "Pack  the  valises.  We're  off  to-night." 
I  rushed  into  the  dug-out.  "Get  up,"  I  commanded  Monty; 
"we  leave  by  ship  at  midnight." 

Never  did  an  invalid  with  a  broken  back  leap  so  easily 
out  of  his  bed,  as  did  Monty.  He  assured  me,  however,  in 
an  apologetic  way,  that  he  had  been  feeling  much  better  even 
before  he  had  the  news. 

"Now  you  know,"  said  he,  "what  the  Special  Order  about 
holding  Helles  was  for — to  deceive  old  Tomfool  Turk;  and 
why  those  regiments  from  Suvla  were  landed  here — to  appear 
to  the  Turk  like  reinforcements,  but  really  to  conduct  the 
evacuation  at  Helles,  having  learnt  the  job  at  Suvla ;  and  why 
we  wanted  the  Turkish  aeroplanes  to  get  back  with  news  of 
our  landing  of  troops — but,  my  bonny  lad,  for  every  two  hun- 
dred we  land  by  day,  we'll  take  off  two  thousand  by  night !" 

After  a  morning  of  hurried  packing  we  decorated  the  dug- 


PART  11  The  End  of  Gallipoli  331 

out  walls  with  messages  for  Johnny  Turk  to  find,  when  he 
should  enter  our  deserted  dwelling.  *'Sorry,  Johnny,  not  at 
home" ;  "Au  revoir,  Abdul." 

"Really,"  said  Monty,  *'we  possess  a  pretty  wit."  And, 
having  placed  a  mug  of  whisky  on  the  table  with  a  bottle  of 
water,  so  that  Old  Man  Turk  could  pour  it  out  to  his  liking, 
he  wrote:    **Have  this  one  with  me,  John.    You  fought  well." 

"Get  my  kit  down  with  yours,"  said  I.  "FU  meet  you  at 
W  Beach  at  ten  pip-emma." 

"Why?"  he  asked  in  surprise.     "Aren't  you  coming  with 


mer 


?" 


"No,"  I  replied,  playing  scandalous  football  with  the  cook- 
house; "Fm  going  to  join  my  company  and  lead  my  braves 
to  safety.     Good-bye." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  rash,"  he  called  after  me 
as  I  set  off.     "There  may  be  dangerous  work." 

"Meet  you  at  W  Beach  at  ten  pip-emma,"  cried  I,  now  some 
distance  away. 

"But  you  haven't  the  doctor's  permission  to  return." 

"Damn  the  doctor !"  I  yelled,  and  disappeared. 


§3 

It  was  quite  dark  in  the  fire-trenches  by  seven  o'clock. 
My  men,  with  eveiy  stitch  of  equipment  on  their  backs,  stood 
on  the  firing-step  and  kept  up  a  dilatory  fire  on  the  Turkish 
lines. 

"Maintain  an  intermittent  fire,"  I  ordered,  as  I  walked 
among  them.  "Not  too  much  of  it,  or  the  Turk  will  think 
we're  nervy,  and  begin  to  suspect — not  too  little,  or  he'll  won- 
der if  we're  moving." 

In  silence  the  relief  of  my  company  was  effected.  The  men 
of  the  13th  Division,  who  were  taking  over  our  line,  re- 
placed one  after  another  my  men  on  the  firing-step,  and  kept 
the  negligent  fire  unbroken.  With  a  whisper  I  officially  handed 
over  my  sector  to  their  company  commander. 

"You'll  follow  us  to-morrow,  probably,"  I  said,  to  com- 
fort myself  rather  than  him.  I  didn't  want  the  man  who 
relieved  me  to  be  among  the  killed. 


332  Tell  England  book  n 

"What  will  happen,  will  happen,"  he  murmured.  "Good 
luck." 

"We  shan't  be  sure  we're  really  going,"  I  prattled  on,  lest 
silence  became  morbid.  "I  simply  can't  believe  it.  Either 
we  shall  be  killed,  going  from  here  to  W  Beach,  or  our  orders 
will  be  cancelled  at  the  last  moment." 

"Pass  the  word  to  Captain  Ray,"  whispered  a  voice,  "to 
march  his  men  out." 

"Word  passed  to  you,  sir,  to  march,"  said  the  sergeant- 
major. 

"From  whom?" 

"Pass  the  word  back — who  from?" 

"From  Commanding  Officer." 

I  walked  to  the  head  of  my  company.  "File  out  in  ab- 
solute silence,"  said  I,  not  remembering  at  the  moment  that 
this  was  the  great  order  of  evacuation.  I  watched  my  com- 
pany file  past  me — twenty-eight  men.  Then  I  followed,  wish- 
ing it  were  lighter,  for  man  never  quite  outgrows  his  dislike 
of  utter  darkness — and  this  was  a  nervous  night.  We  threaded 
guiltily  through  the  old  trench  system,  and  emerged  into  the 
Gully  Ravine,  hardly  realising  that  we  had  bidden  the  old 
lines  good-bye. 

Since  dusk  the  Turk,  as  apprehensive  as  ourselves,  had  been 
shelling  the  Gully.  And  now,  as  we  splashed  and  floundered 
along  it,  shells  screamed  towards  our  column,  making  each 
of  us  wonder  dreamily  whether  he  would  be  left  dead  by  the 
wayside.  We  reached  Artillery  Road,  and  discerned  the 
shadowy  form  of  the  remainder  of  the  battalion. 

A  figure  appeared  from  somewhere,  and  I  recognised  the 
voice  as  the  C.O.'s. 

"I  shall  take  the  other  companies  by  the  road  under  the 
cliffs.  Take  your  men  over  the  tableland,  and  wait  for  me 
at  W  Beach.  We  shall  get  there  more  quickly  and  less  noisily 
that  way." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  saluting.  But  under  my  breath  I  swore. 
I  had  no  desire  to  take  my  men  along  the  plateau,  because, 
whereas  the  road  under  the  cliffs  was  well  sheltered,  the  table- 
land was  exposed  to  all  the  guns  on  Achi  Baba,  every  one  of 
which — so  jumpy  was  the  Turk — seemed  manned  and  firing. 
And  I  had  set  my  heart  on  getting  my  company — all  twenty- 


PART  II  The  End  of  Gallipoli  333 

eight  of  them — off  the  Peninsula  without  the  loss  of  a  single 
man.  The  route,  too,  lay  over  Hunter  Weston  Hill,  and  I 
wanted  to  avoid  seeing  and  thinking  of  Doe's  grave  to-night. 

So,  worrying  anxiously,  I  gave  the  order  *'D  Company — 
march!"  and  led  the  way  up  Artillery  Road,  while  the  men, 
observing  that  the  other  companies  were  proceeding  in  com- 
parative safety  along  the  Gully,  began  to  sing  quietly:  "FU 
take  the  high  road,  and  you'll  take  the  low  road  .  .  .  and  we 
shall  never  meet  again,"  and  to  titter  and  to  laugh. 

"Silence!"  I  commanded. 

Hearing  only  the  padding  of  our  feet  as  they  marched  in 
step,  and  keeping  our  eyes  on  the  ground  that  we  might  not 
miss  the  beaten  track  and  wander  into  the  heather,  we  tramped 
along  the  trail  which  I  had  taken  on  my  wild  ride  to  Doe's 
bedside.  We  passed  Pink  Farm  Cemetery,  barely  distinguish- 
ing the  outline  of  its  solitary  tree.  We  left  the  "White  City" 
on  our  right.  It  was  brilliantly  lit,  that  the  Turk  might  think 
everything  was  as  usual  on  Helles.  We  reached  the  summit 
of  Hunter  Weston  Hill,  and  looked  down  upon  a  still  grey 
plain,  which  was  the  sea. 

On  the  slope  of  the  hill,  not  fifty  yards  from  where  Doe 
was  lying,  I  had  halted  my  men  and  was  making  them  sit  down, 
when  a  voice  out  of  the  darkness  asked : 

"Who's  that?" 

My  heart  bounded  with  fright.  A  sense  of  the  eerie  was 
upon  me,  and  for  a  second  I  thought  it  was  Doe's  voice. 

"D  Company,"  I  called  hollowly.     "loth  East  Cheshires." 

"Ah,  good!"  repeated  the  voice,  which  was  Monty's.  And 
he  stepped  out  of  the  night,  giving  me  another  nasty  turn, 
for  it  was  like  some  unexpected  presence  coming  from  the 
darkest  comer  of  a  room.  He  sat  down  beside  me,  and  began 
to  talk. 

"The  moon  is  due  up  about  midnight.  They  want  to  get  us 
off  before  moonrise,  so  that  the  Turk  may  not  shell  us  by  its 
light.    His  aviators  are  expected  to  try  night-flying." 

"Oh!"  said  I.    I  was  thinking  of  other  things. 

"But  they've  been  shelling  us  pretty  effectively  in  the  dark, 
Asiatic  Annie  is  very  busy  troubling  the  beaches." 

"Oh?"  I  said  again. 


334  Tell  England  book  h 

And  at  that  moment  a  flash  illuminated  the  eastern  sky  like 
lightning. 

'There  you  are,"  said  Monty.    ''She's  fired." 

No  sound  of  a  gun  firing  or  a  shell  rushing  had  accompanied 
the  flash.  Only  alarm  whistles  began  blowing  from  different 
points  on  the  hillside. 

"They're  blown  by  special  sentries,"  explained  Monty,  "who 
are  posted  to  watch  the  hills  of  Asia  for  this  flash,  and  warn 
the  troops  to  take  cover." 

"Take  cover,"  I  said  to  my  men. 

The  shell  was  on  its  way,  but,  as  it  had  a  journey  of  seven 
miles  to  make  across  the  Dardanelles,  a  certain  time  must  elapse 
before  we  should  hear  the  shriek  of  the  shell  as  it  raced  towards 
us.  It  seemed  an  extraordinary  time.  We4cnew  the  shell  was 
coming  with  its  destiny,  involving  our  life  or  death,  irrevocably 
determined,  and  yet  we  heard  nothing.  The  men,  under  such 
cover  as  they  could  find,  were  silent  in  their  suspense.  Then 
the  shell  roared  over  our  heads,  seeming  so  low  that  we  cow- 
ered to  avoid  it.  It  exploded  a  score  of  yards  away.  A  shower 
of  earth  rained  upon  us,  but  no  splinter  touched  anyone.  The 
men  whistled  in  their  relief  and  laughed. 

"Does  this  happen  often?"  I  asked  Monty,  when  I  found 
I  was  still  alive. 

"Every  few  minutes.  It's  ten  o'clock.  We  embark  at  mid- 
night." 

"I'm  moving  my  men,  then.  Asiatic  Annie  has  the  range  of 
this  spot  too  well." 

I  marched  my  company  down  to  the  beach,  and  told  them 
to  take  shelter  under  the  lee  of  the  cliff.  We  had  scarcely  got 
there  before  Annie's  wicked  eye  sparkled  from  Asia,  the 
warning  whistles  blew,  and,  after  crying  "There  she  is!"  we 
waited  spellbound  for  the  imminent  shriek.  The  shell  burst  in 
the  surf,  scattering  shingle  and  spray  over  every  one  of  us. 

"You'd  think  they'd  seen  us  move,"  I  said,  listening  for  the 
groans  of  any  wounded.  None  came,  but  I  heard  instead  the 
sound  of  muffled  voices  and  marching  feet,  and  saw  men 
moving  through  the  darkness  along  the  brink  of  the  sea  like 
a  column  of  Stygian  shades.  It  was  the  battalion  arriving, 
with  other  units  of  the  East  Cheshire  Brigade. 

"I  know  what'll  happen,  Rupert"  said  Monty,  when  these 


PART  II  The  End  of  Gallipoli  886 

men  had  crowded  the  beach  and  the  hill-slope.  "Some  drunken 
Turk  will  lean  against  that  old  gun  in  Asia,  and  just  push 
it  far  enough  to  perfect  its  aim/' 

And  he  looked  round  upon  the  mass  of  men  and  shuddered. 

It  was  getting  cold,  and  we  huddled  ourselves  up  on  the 
beach.  Some  of  us  were  indifferent  in  our  fatalism  to  the 
shells  of  Asiatic  Annie;  if  our  time  had  come — well,  Kismet. 
Others,  like  myself,  waited  fascinated.  I  know  I  had  almost 
hungered  for  that  meaning  flash  in  Asia,  the  terrible  delight 
of  suspense,  the  rush  of  thrills,  and  the  sudden  arresting  of  the 
heart  as  the  shell  exploded. 


§4 

Then,  about  one  o'clock,  the  moon  broke  the  clouds  and  lit 
the  operations  with  a  white  light.  It  should  have  filled  us 
with  dismay,  but  instead  it  seemed  the  beginning  of  brighter 
things.  The  men  groaned  merrily  and  burst  into  a  drawling 
song: 

"Oh,  the  moon  shines  bright  on  Mrs.  Porter, 
And  on  her  daughter, 
A  regular  snorter; 

She  has  washed  her  neck  in  dirty  water, 
She  didn't  oughter, 
The  dirty  cat." 

And  Monty,  hearing  them,  whispered  one  of  his  delightfully 
out-of-place  remarks : 

"Aren't  they  wonderful,  Rupert?  I  could  hug  them  all,  but 
I  wish  they'd  come  to  Mass." 

The  moon,  moreover,  showed  us  comforting  things.  There 
was  the  old  Redbreast  lying  off  Cape  Helles.  There  were  th/5 
lighters,  crowded  with  men,  pushing  off  from  the  beach  to  the 
waiting  boat. 

"You  could  get  off  on  any  one  of  those  lighters,"  said  I  to 
Monty.    "Why  don't  you  go  ?" 

"Why,  because  we'll  leave  this  old  place  together." 

After  he  said  this  I  must  have  fallen  from  sheer  weariness 
into  a  half-sleep.     The  next  thing  I  remember  was  Monty's 


336  Tell  England  book  n 

saying :  "Look  alive,  Rupert !  We're  moving  now."  Glancing 
round,  I  saw  that  my  company  was  the  last  left  on  the  beach. 
I  marshalled  the  men — twenty-eight  of  them^ — on  to  the  lighter. 

"Now,  get  aboard,  Rupert,''  said  Monty. 

"You  first,"  corrected  I.    "I'm  going  to  be  last  off  to-night." 

"As  your  senior  officer,  I  order  you  to  go  first." 

"As  the  only  combatant  officer  on  the  beach,"  I  retorted, 
"I'm  O.C.  Troops.  You're  simply  attached  to  me  for  rations 
and  discipline.    Kindly  embark." 

Monty  muttered  something  about  "upstart  impudence,"  and 
obeyed  the  O.C.  Troops,  who  thereupon  boarded  the  rocking 
lighter,  and  exchanged  with  one  step  the  fatal  Peninsula  for 
the  safety  of  the  seas. 

On  the  Redbreast  we  leaned  upon  the  rail,  looking  back. 
The  boat  began  to  steam  away,  and  Monty,  knowing  with  whom 
the  thoughts  of  both  of  us  lay,  said  quietly : 

"  Tell  England '    You  must  write  a  book  and  tell  'em, 

Rupert,  about  the  dead  schoolboys  of  your  generation — 

*Tell  England,  ye  who  pass  this  monument, 
We  died  for  her,  and  here  we  rest  content/  '* 

Unable  to  conquer  a  slight  warming  of  the  eyes  at  these 
words,  I  watched  the  Peninsula  pass.  All  that  I  could  see  of 
it  in  the  moonlight  was  the  white  surf  on  the  beach,  the  slope 
of  Hunter  Weston  Hill,  and  the  outline  of  Achi  Baba,  rising 
behind  like  a  monument. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  END  OF  RUPERT's  STORY 
§1 

LET  Monty  have  the  last  word,  for  he  spoke  it  well.  He 
spoke  it  a  few  days  ago,  in  the  late  autumn  of  191 8,  that 
is  to  say,  as  the  war  breaks  up,  and  nearly  three  years  after 
we  slipped  away  in  the  moonlight  from  W  Beach. 

In  those  intervening  years  the  game  losers  of  Gallipoli  had 
avenged  themselves  at  Bagdad,  Jerusalem,  and  Aleppo.  In 
every  field  the  Turkish  Armies  had  been  destroyed:  and  now 
the  forts  of  the  Dardanelles  were  to  be  surrendered,  and  the 
Narrows  thrown  open  to  the  Allies.  One  wished  that  the  dead 
on  Gallipoli  might  be  awakened,  if  only  for  a  minute,  at  the 
sound  of  the  old  language  spoken  among  the  graves,  to  see 
the  khaki  ashore  again,  and  British  ships  sailing  in  triumph  up 
the  Straits. 

Many  of  the  old  Colonel's  visions  of  the  emancipation  of 
the  Arab  world,  and  the  control  of  the  junction  of  the  conti- 
nents, had  thus  been  realised.  And  a  nobler  crusade  than  that 
which  he  saw  in  the  Dardanelles  campaign  had  been  fought  and 
won  by  the  army  which  entered  Jerusalem.  And,  note  it  well, 
the  men  who  won  these  victories  were  in  great  part  the  men 
who  escaped  from  Suvla  and  Helles.  For,  like  the  Suvla  Army, 
the  whole  Helles  Army  escaped.  And  the  Turk  was  a  fool  to 
let  them  go. 

But,  before  I  give  you  Monty's  last  word,  let  me  tell  you 
where  I  am  at  this  moment.  It  is  early  evening,  and  I  am 
writing  these  closing  lines,  in  which  I  bid  you  farewell,  sitting 
on  the  floor  of  my  kennel-like  dug-out  in  a  Belgian  trench. 
There  is  a  most  glorious  bombardment  going  on  overhead.  It 
has  thundered  over  our  trench  for  days  and  nights  on  to  the 
German  lines,  which  to-morrow,  when  we  go  over  the  top,  we 

337 


338  Tell  England  book  ii 

shall  capture,  as  surely  as  we  captured  the  one  I  am  sitting  in 
now.  Yes,  Turkey  is  out  of  the  game;  Bulgaria  is  out  of  it; 
Austria  is  crying  for  quarter;  and  Germany  is  disintegrating 
before  our  advance. 

Our  bombardment  is  the  most  uplifting  and  exciting  thing. 
So  fast  do  the  shells  fly  over  and  detonate  on  the  enemy  ground 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  distinguish  the  isolated  shell- 
bursts  ;  they  are  lost  in  one  dense  fog  of  smoke.  Just  now  we 
ceased  to  be  rational  as  we  stood  watching  it.  "That's  the 
stuif  to  give  'em !''  cried  a  Tommy  in  his  excitement.  "Pump 
it  over !  Pump  it  over !"  and,  as  some  German  sand-bags  flew 
into  the  air:  "Gee!  Look  at  that!  Are  we  downhearted? 
NO !  'Ave  we  won  ?  YES !"  And  I  wanted  to  throw  up  my 
hat  and  cheer.  There  seized  me  the  sensation  I  got  when  my 
house  was  winning  on  the  football-ground  at  school.  "We're 
on  top !    On  top  of  the  Boche,  and  he  asked  for  it !" 

I  have  now  returned  to  my  dug-out,  feeling  it  in  my  heart 
to  be  sorry  for  the  Germans.  I  am  impatient  to  finish  my 
story,  for  we  go  over  the  top  in  the  morning. 


§2 

It  is  in  a  letter  just  arrived  from  my  mother  that  we  find 
Monty's  last  word — his  footnote  to  this  history.  She  describes 
a  ceremony  which  she  attended  at  Kensingtowe,  the  unveiling 
of  a  memorial  in  the  chapel  to  the  Old  Kensingtonians  who  fell 
at  Gallipoli.  Monty,  as  an  old  Peninsula  padre,  had  been  in- 
vited to  preach  the  sermon.  My  mother  writes  in  her  womanly 
way: 

"He  preached  a  wonderful  sermon.  We  all  thought  him 
like  a  man  who  had  seen  terrible  things,  and  was  passionately 
anxious  that  somehow  good  should  come  of  it  all. 

"Calvary,  he  said,  was  a  sacrifice  offered  by  a  Holy  Fam- 
ily. There  was  a  Father  Who  gave  His  Son,  because  He  so 
loved  the  world;  a  mother  who  yielded  up  her  child,  whis- 
pering (he  doubted  not)  :  *Behold  the  handmaid  of  the 
Lord' ;  and  a  Son  Who  went  to  His  death  in  the  spirit  of  the 
words:    'In  the  volume  of  the  Book  it  was  written  of  me 


PART  II  The  End  of  Rupert's  Story  339 

that  I  should  do  Thy  will,  O  my  God ;  I  am  content  to  do  it.' 

'*And,  in  days  to  come,  England  must  remember  that  once 
upon  a  time  she,  too,  was  a  Holy  Family ;  for  there  had  been 
years  in  which  she  was  composed  of  fathers  who  so  loved 
the  world  that  they  gave  their  sons ;  of  mothers  who  whis- 
pered, as  their  boys  set  their  faces  for  Gallipoli  or  Flanders : 
'Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord'  (and  oh,  Rupert,  I  felt  so 
ashamed  to  think  how  badly  I  behaved  that  last  night  before 
you  went  to  Gallipoli — how  rebelHous  I  was!).  He  went  on 
to  speak  of  the  sons,  and  what  do  you  think  he  said?  He 
spoke  of  one  who,  the  evening  before  the  last  attack  at  Cape 
Helles,  asked  him:    *Will  you  take  care  of  these  envelopes, 

in  case '    He  declared  that  this  simple  sentence  was,  in 

its  shy  English  way,  a  reflection  of  the  words :  *It  was  writ- 
ten of  me  that  I  should  do  Thy  will ;  I  am  content  to  do  it/ 

"That  boy,  an  old  Kensingtonian,  was  mortally  hit  in  the 
morning.  There  was  another  with  him,  also  an  old  Ken- 
singtonian, who  was  still  alive,  and  might  yet  come  marching 
home  with  the  victorious  army. 

"I  lost  his  next  words,  for  there  I  broke  down.  But  I 
seem  to  remember  his  saying : 

"  'AH  men  and  all  nations  are  the  better  for  remembering 
that  once  they  were  holy.  England's  past,  then,  is  holy ;  her 
future  is  unwritten.  But  Idealism  is  mightily  abroad  among 
those  who  shall  make  the  England  that  is  to  be.  And  all  that 
remains  for  the  preacher  to  say  is  this :  Nothing  but  Chris- 
tianity will  ever  gather  in  that  harvest  of  spiritual  ideals 
which  alone  will  make  good  our  prodigal  outlay:  for,  after 
all,  we  have  sown  the  world  with  the  broken  dreams  and 
spilled  ambitions  of  a  generation  of  schoolboys.  .  .  . 

"  'All  you  who  have  suffered,  you  fathers  and  mothers,  re- 
member this :  only  by  turning  your  sufferings  into  the  seeds 
of  God-like  things  will  you  make  their  memory  beautiful.' 

"Oh,  Rupert,  I  was  elevated  by  all  he  said,  and  I  prayed 
that  you  might  go  on  with  willingness  and  resolution  to  the 
end,  and  that  I  might  face  the  last  few  weeks  of  the  war  with 
courage.  I  thought  of  the  remark  of  your  old  Cheshire 
Colonel,  that,  instead  of  wandering  during  these  years  among 
the  undistinguished  valleys,  you  have  been  transferred 
straight  to  the  mountain-tops.    Do  you  remember  how  I  used 


340  Tell  England  book  ii 

to  call  you  'my  mountain  boy'  ?  The  name  has  a  new  mean- 
ing now.  Even  if  you  are  in  danger  at  this  time,  I  try  to  be 
proud.    I  think  of  you  as  on  white  heights.'' 


§3 

"Only  by  turning  your  sufferings  into  the  seeds  of  God-like 
things  will  you  make  their  memory  beautiful." 

As  I  copied  just  now  those  last  words  of  Monty's  sermon, 
I  laid  down  my  pencil  on  the  dug-out  floor  with  a  little  start. 
As  in  a  flashlight  I  saw  their  truth.  They  created  in  my  mind 
the  picture  of  that  ^gean  evening,  when  Monty  turned  the 
moment  of  Doe's  death,  which  so  nearly  brought  me  discour- 
agement and  debasement,  into  an  ennobling  memory.  And  I 
foresaw  him  going  about  healing  the  sores  of  this  war  with 
the  same  priestly  hand. 

Yes,  there  are  reasons  why  such  wistful  visions  should  haunt 
me  now.  Everything  this  evening  has  gone  to  produce  a  cer- 
tain exaltation  in  me.  First,  there  has  been  the  bombardment, 
with  its  thought  of  going  over  the  top  to-morrow.  Then 
comes  my  mother's  glowing  letter,  which  somehow  has  held 
me  enthralled,  so  that  I  find  sentences  from  it  reiterating 
themselves  in  my  mind,  just  as  they  did  in  the  old  school- 
days. And  lastly,  there  has  been  the  joyous  sense  of  having 
completed  my  book,  on  which  for  three  years  I  have  laboured 
lovingly  in  tent,  and  billet,  and  trench. 

I  meant  to  close  it  on  the  last  echo  of  Monty's  sermon.  But 
the  fascination  was  on  me,  and  I  felt  I  wanted  to  go  on  writ- 
ing. I  had  so  lost  myself  in  the  old  scenes  of  schoolroom, 
playing-fields,  starlit  decks,  and  Grecian  battlegrounds,  which 
I  had  been  describing,  that  I  actually  ceased  to  hear  the  bom- 
bardment. And  the  atmosphere  of  the  well-loved  places  and 
well-loved  friends  remained  all  about  me.  It  was  the  at- 
mosphere that  old  portraits  and  fading  old  letters  throw 
around  those  who  turn  them  over.  So  I  took  up  again  my 
pencil  and  my  paper. 

I  thought  I  would  add  a  paragraph  or  two,  in  case  I  go 
down  in  the  morning.     If  I  come  through  all  right,  I  shall 


p^T  II  The  End  of  Rupert's  Story  341 

wipe  these  paragraphs  out.  Meanwhile,  in  these  final  hours 
of  wonder  and  waiting,  it  is  happiness  to  write  on. 

I  fear  that,  as  I  write,  I  may  appear  to  dogmatise,  for  I  am 
still  only  twenty-two.     But  I  must  speak  while  I  can. 

What  silly  things  one  thinks  in  an  evening  of  suspense  and 
twilight  like  this !  One  minute  I  feel  I  want  to  be  alive  this 
time  to-morrow,  in  order  that  my  book,  which  has  become 
everything  to  me,  may  have  a  happy  ending.  Pennybet  fell 
at  Neuve  Chapelle,  Doe  at  Cape  Helles,  and  one  ought  to 
be  left  alive  to  save  the  face  of  the  tale.  Still,  if  these  para- 
graphs stand  and  I  fall,  it  will  at  least  be  a  true  ending — true 
to  things  as  they  were  for  the  generation  in  which  we  were 
bom. 

And  the  glorious  bombardment  asserts  itself  through  my 
thoughts,  and  with  a  thrill  I  conceive  of  it — for  we  would-be 
authors  are  persons  obsessed  by  one  idea — as  an  effort  of  the 
people  of  Britain  to  make  it  possible  for  me  to  come  through 
unhurt  and  save  my  story.    I  feel  I  want  to  thank  them. 

Another  minute  I  try  to  recapture  that  moment  of  ideal 
patriotism  which  I  touched  on  the  deck  of  the  Rangoon,  I  see 
a  death  in  No  Man's  Land  to-morrow  as  a  wonderful  thing. 
There  you  stand  exactly  between  two  nations.  All  Britain 
with  her  might  is  behind  your  back,  reaching  down  to  her 
frontier,  which  is  the  trench  whence  you  have  just  leapt.  All 
Germany  with  her  might  is  before  your  face.  Perhaps  it  is 
not  ill  to  die  standing  like  that  in  front  of  your  nation. 

I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  my  mother's  pain,  if  to-morrow 
claims  me.  But  I  leave  her  this  book,  into  which  I  seem  to 
have  poured  my  life.  It  is  part  of  myself.  No,  it  is  myself 
— and  I  shall  only  return  her  what  is  her  own. 

Oh,  but  if  I  go  down,  I  want  to  ask  you  not  to  think  it 
anything  but  a  happy  ending.  It  will  be  happy,  because  vic- 
tory came  to  the  nation,  and  that  is  more  important  than  the 
life  of  any  individual.  Listen  to  that  bombardment  outside, 
which  is  increasing,  if  possible,  as  the  darkness  gathers — well, 
it  is  one  of  the  last  before  the  extraordinary  Sabbath-silence, 
which  will  be  the  Allies'  Peace. 

And,  if  these  pages  can  be  regarded  as  my  spiritual  history, 
they  will  have  a  happy  ending,  too.     This  is  why. 

In  the  Mediterranean  on  a  summer  day,  I  learned  that  I 


342  Tell  England  book  ii 

was  to  pursue  beauty  like  the  Holy  Grail.  And  I  see  it  now 
in  everything.  I  know  that,  just  as  there  is  far  more  beauty 
in  nature  than  ugliness,  so  there  is  more  goodness  in  humanity 
than  evil.  There  is  more  happiness  in  life  than  pain.  Yes, 
there  is.  As  Monty  used  to  say,  we  are  given  now  and  then 
moments  of  surpassing  joy  which  outweigh  decades  of  grief. 
I  think  I  knew  such  a  moment  when  I  won  the  swimming 
cup  for  Bramhall.  And  I  remember  my  mother  whispering 
one  night:  "If  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  Rupert,  were  to  be 
sorrow,  the  last  nineteen  years  of  you  have  made  it  so  well 
worth  living."  Happiness  wins  hands  down.  Take  any  hun- 
dred of  us  out  here,  and  for  ten  who  are  miserable  you  will 
find  ninety  who  are  lively  and  laughing.  Life  is  good — else 
why  should  we  cling  to  it  as  we  do? — oh,  yes,  we  surely  do, 
especially  when  the  chances  are  all  against  us.  Life  is  good, 
and  youth  is  good.    I  have  had  twenty  glorious  years. 

I  may  be  whimsical  to-night,  but  I  feel  that  the  old  Colonel 
was  right  when  he  saw  nothing  unlovely  in  Penny's  death; 
and  that  Monty  was  right  when  h^  said  that  Doe  had  done  a 
perfect  thing  at  the  last,  and  so  grasped  the  Grail.  And  I 
have  the  strange  idea  that  very  likely  I,  too,  shall  find  beauty 
in  the  morning. 


THE  END 


22 


33l 


